


what a terrible world, what a beautiful world

by dullahans



Series: s15 fix it [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Universe, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, It's genuinely just a full season 15 rewrite from 15x03 The Rupture, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, Season/Series 15, Slow Burn, The Empty (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dullahans/pseuds/dullahans
Summary: "Fix it," Sam says firmly when Dean doesn’t reply. "Fix it before you regret it because our lives are dangerous, and we've lost too many people, and you never know when it's going to fall apart.""It would be a lot easier if he was open to fixing it," Dean bites out. He's trying here, he's trying really fucking hard, but Cas doesn't want to hear it."Maybe you're not saying the right thing," Sam suggests.(A season 15 fix-it fic that starts from 15x03 The Rupture, and diverges fairly significantly.)
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester (background), Jack Kline & Dean Winchester
Series: s15 fix it [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162340
Comments: 54
Kudos: 414





	what a terrible world, what a beautiful world

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, okay. Okay! So, this started as something that was supposed to be a post 15x03 fic that kinda got out of hand, and went in about fifty directions. I did take inspiration from things that happened in season 15, but there were a lot of things I didn't like, so...I just wrote my own spin on them.
> 
> The title is from 12/17/12 by The Decemberists.

“Cas?”

A beat. 

“Can you hear me?” 

No response. Dean pulls out the half-empty decanter from his bedside table. He drinks and drinks and he doesn’t stop until he empties the bottle, the cool liquid burns as it trickles down his throat. Dean can feel his hands tremble under him and his eyes burn with tears that he refuses to shed. Against his better judgment, he throws the bottle down, and it shatters against the tile floor, the glass flying off the ground, a piece nearly hitting Dean’s eye. 

Dean closes his eyes, knowing that at any minute, footsteps will run down the hallway and Sam will peer into the room, a look of disappointment on his face, but they won’t talk about it.

~

It takes Sam two weeks to confront Dean which, in his defense, is two weeks longer than Dean expects. 

He corners Dean in the kitchen on a night that neither of them can sleep, which seems to be every night lately. The nightmares go unsaid, but Dean doesn't have to press hard to know what Sam's are about, and Sam doesn't need to look far for Dean's. There's the empty shell of their mother's corpse, so far beyond recognition that they couldn’t even attempt to bring her back. There's Chuck and the impending doom that sits over their heads and the very fact that nothing about their lives is real. There's Rowena, and there's Jack. There's Cas, _always_ Cas. 

Dean is leaning against the kitchen island, whiskey glass in hand, when Sam walks in. He immediately frowns and shoots Dean a look when he catches sight of the glass. Dean twitches, fully ready to get defensive over his drinking habits, but Sam doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he walks over to the fridge and pulls out a half-eaten sandwich. He quietly moves to sit at the table, pulling out his tablet, and wordlessly scrolls through something. Dean thinks that’s it and that Sam would leave well enough alone, but it doesn’t last long, and Sam starts to get twitchy, darting his eyes around the room as he taps his fingers on the table. 

"Hey," Sam says when he finally breaks the silence; he drops his tablet down onto the table and furrows his brows. Dean traces the rim of his glass and turns away from his brother. Calmly, Sam says, "Have you talked to Cas recently?"

“No,” Dean says, carefully keeping his bitterness at bay. He takes a swig of his drink, somehow wishing the whiskey would burn his insides enough for him to feel something that isn’t the impossible to grasp grief he currently feels. He turns to face Sam. “Not since he left.”

"Yeah, about that," Sam says slowly, eyebrows drawing together in worry. "You never told me why he left in the first place." 

Dean focuses on his drink, glancing away from Sam. _He left because of me. He left because everyone leaves me. He left because I push away everyone I care about._

"Dean?" Sam asks again.

"Just drop it, okay?" Dean snaps, and Sam instinctively recoils in shock. Dean clenches his jaw and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from raising his voice."I don't know why he left and I don’t know when he’s coming back. He’s just — he’s just gone, okay?”

"Gone?" Sam asks, slowly. Dean can see the muscles in Sam’s face twist in concentration, as if he’s debating whether the topic is worth the hassle. Dean wishes he wouldn’t, but Sam has never been particularly good at letting go. "Are you two okay?" Sam eventually asks, ignoring Dean’s silent glare.

That's the million-dollar question, and Dean doesn't know the answer. He doesn't know where to even start. Even at the best of times, Cas is flighty — desperate to stake his life on a new crusade, but this time, it's different. Cas didn't go somewhere to do something; Cas walked out on them, on _him_. The thought fills Dean with white, hot rage. He knows that it’s probably his fault, but in Dean’s experience, people who care don’t just up and leave when things get tough.

"I don't know," Dean bites out, far more viciously than he intends. Sam's eyes widen in shock before he narrows them, assessing Dean. He opens his mouth to ask another question, but Dean gets up from the table, grabbing the whiskey bottle in the process. He’s halfway out of the kitchen when Sam speaks up again.

"Dean —"

"Sam, I'm serious," Dean warns, low and dangerous. "I don't want to talk about Cas. He's pissed at me. I'm pissed at him. So, just drop it."

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an exhausted sigh. "Dean, whatever you said to him, I'm sure you guys can fix it. You always do."

_If anything happens to her, you're dead to me._

_Why does that something always seem to be you?_

"Not this time," Dean says quietly, as he walks out of the kitchen. He’s pretty sure Sam calls after him again, but Dean tunes it out. 

He kicks his bedroom door shut behind him, collapsing on the floor, with his back to the door. He’s tired. He’s so fucking _tired_. Christ, Dean really thought this would all be over once they got through Chuck’s last apocalypse, but it’s never over. He’ll be back, and he’ll want his revenge, and Dean knows that there’s going to be death and pain at the end of it all. But the worst part is that the world might be ending and yet, all Dean can think about is the way Cas turned his back away from Dean as he walked up those stairs. 

~

It takes two more weeks until Sam finally loses patience and starts taking cases again out of a desperate need for a distraction; this time with Eileen by his side. It’s been thirty one days since Cas walked out of the bunker — not that Dean is keeping count. With Sam and Eileen gone most days, Dean finds himself roaming the quiet expanse of the bunker. It’s disconcerting how hollow the empty, echoing rooms are now that it’s just him. 

He opens the door to Sam’s room first which is undecorated except for a small photograph of him and Eileen on the side table. Dean walks down the corridor until he’s standing in front of another room. He hesitates for a brief moment before opening the door to Jack’s room, which has been left completely untouched. There’s the empty snake tank in the corner, a stuffed bear on a bookshelf, and sheets that look freshly slept in despite nobody living in the room for exactly forty two days. Dean takes a careful step inside, bare feet pattering on the tiled floor until he makes it to the bed. He lifts the sheets gently before pulling them off the bed. He turns the corner away from Jack’s room towards yet another one. _Cas_. Dean’s hands hover above the door handle briefly before he walks away. He tosses Jack’s sheets into the laundry machine before returning to his room.

Collapsing onto his bed, Dean tries to sleep. 

Lately, he finds that he hates sleeping because he dreams, and his dreams are relentless in their cruelty. He dreams of his mother, gone too soon, and just when he got her back in the first place. Dean dreams about Jack and the gun in his hand, Chuck's cold smile, and Cas looking at him like he can't recognize him anymore. Dean dreams about Cas's hand in his, fingers trailing down his body, only for Cas to fix him a look and leave him empty and alone. He dreams of his own anger and rage, eating him up from the inside and pushing away everyone he's ever loved until he's all alone. 

_"Dean, stop," Cas's voice rings out in an empty, dark room. Dean’s head swivels around, trying to find the source of the voice. He finds Cas standing over Jack’s dead body, his eyes a burnt black. Suddenly, the Mark of Cain burns on Dean's arm, and he hears Chuck laugh somewhere in the distance. Jack's corpse. Cas's heartbroken face wondering how Dean can do something like that. Chuck laughing at the scene playing out in front of him. The Mark disappears._

_"It's who you are," Chuck says, fixing him a cold smile. "You're a killer. Everyone you love knows that, and they'll all leave once they realize what a monster you are. Hell, you're more of a killer now than you were when you had the Mark."_

_"I didn't kill him," Dean argues to nobody in particular. "You did. You killed Jack."_

_Chuck shrugs. "Keep telling yourself that." Dean follows Chuck's gaze to where Cas is hunched over Jack's body. "He blames you, you know. You think it's his fault that Mary died? Well, he thinks it's your fault that his only son is dead. You could have saved him, but you didn't."_

Dean wakes up in cold sweat, tries to catch his breath, knowing full well he's not getting any more sleep that night. Dean runs a hand over his face and tries to will his tiredness away. He takes out his phone and dials a familiar number. After four rings, he hears Cas's unmistakable voice.

_This is my voicemail. Make your…voice…a mail._

Dean hangs up and tries again. 

"Fuck you, you son of a bitch," Dean says quietly into the emptiness of his room.

~

Cas calls Sam on Tuesday, but Dean isn't privy to that conversation. When Dean tries calling Cas on Wednesday, it goes straight to voicemail. Sam decides to hunt a nest of vampires on Thursday, claiming that he needed to get out of the bunker because Dean's self-destructiveness is becoming contagious. Dean tries calling Cas again on Friday.

It's Saturday afternoon, and Dean is in the process of downing half a bottle of old whiskey when he hears the bunker door open, followed by some movement and an unmistakable trench coat. Cas hesitates at the top of the stairs and Dean swallows hard when their eyes meet, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed. Dean can just about make out the quiet exhale of breath as Cas walks down the stairs, taking slow, deliberate steps. He pauses at the edge of the war room table and fidgets with the sleeve of his jacket, looking down at the floor. When he looks up and meets Dean's eyes, his expression is carefully blank. 

"Hey," Dean manages after a moment, unsure of his voice. Cas tips his head to the side but doesn’t say anything. Dean tries again. "I tried calling."

There’s a hardness to Cas that Dean hasn’t seen in years. He thinks back to those early days, over a decade prior, where he had no idea how to approach Cas, an otherworldly being in every way. Even back then, when his unflinching glare and single-minded righteousness could break the world effortlessly, Cas was still unreservedly gentle towards Dean. But now when Dean looks at him, Cas’s expression is devoid of any affection or care and that strikes Dean through the core.

"I know," Cas says, finally breaking his silence. Dean watches Cas scan the bunker before setting his sight on Dean. "Where's Sam?"

Dean snorts. Figures that he would get radio silence from Cas for weeks on end, and when Cas finally comes back to the bunker, he's looking for _Sam_ , of all people. When Cas raises an eyebrow at him, Dean shakes his head. Whatever, it’s fine; he’s fine. "He's sorting out a vampire nest about three hours north with Eileen."

"Eileen?" Cas asks, squinting. "The hunter that Ketch set his hellhound on?"

"Yeah, she's back," Dean says with a wave. He considers the state of their lives that old friends coming back from the dead hardly fazes them anymore. "It's a long story, but Sam really likes hunting with her.” He flashes a toothy grin in Cas’s direction. “Amongst other things.”

"That's nice," Cas says, a ghost of a smile flickers over his face. It quickly drops though, and Cas's face settles back into the same blank apathy. Dean doesn't know why he expects something else from Cas when the last time they were in the same room together, Cas had walked away and Dean had to grapple with the end of their already fractured friendship. It's like his memories fade into reality because Cas turns away from him and walks towards the stairs. Without looking at Dean, he says, "Tell Sam to reach out to me when he gets back."

 _Fuck you_ , Dean thinks. He could just let Cas walk away again, knowing full well that it would probably be another month, maybe longer, before he sees him again. But, Cas deserves that, doesn’t he? He left, so Dean shouldn’t call after him. Except — 

"Wait," Dean calls out, pushing himself off his chair to follow Cas towards the stairs, and grabs Cas’s arm to stop him. When Cas turns his head around, his eyes flash with anger. Dean immediately drops his hand and Cas follows the movement with his eyes before he looks at Dean again. The moment stretches before them and Dean feels like he’s being pulled apart seam by seam under the weight of Cas’s stare; each passing moment feels longer than the last. Dean swallows hard and says, "Did you want something?"

He can see the gears turning in Cas's head and the silent debate he's having with himself, and Dean feels a little sick at the thought that whatever it is that Cas is here for, he can't trust Dean with it. Or maybe he can, but he doesn't want to and somehow that feels even worse. 

Cas exhales sharply, tilting his head towards the ceiling. His voice is barely above a whisper when he says, "I think I found Jack."

A chill runs up Dean’s spine and he feels his heart stumble over its own rhythm. Jack's face flashes in his mind — bright eyes turning burnt and blackened, carefree smile turning heartbroken and betrayed. Jack is _alive_ , and there is a chance that they could bring him home. Cas studies him with cool, piercing eyes. 

Dean bows his head and closes his eyes. He lets out a quiet breath and asks, "Where is he?"

When Dean lifts his head to look at Cas, he can tell that Cas is still angry, but there’s something else behind the blues of his eyes. Dean isn't delusional enough to think that everything is water under the bridge just because they're in the same room again, but they both want to save Jack, and that might be enough for now.

"He's in Montana," Cas says, finally breaking the silence. He frowns slightly. "He — Dean, he killed a doctor and ate his heart."

Dean blinks. "Ate his _heart_?"

"I'm probably better off showing you," Cas says as he pulls out his phone. 

The video itself is self-explanatory — Jack enters a doctor's office, speaks to the doctor in question before the camera glitches out. When the camera comes back on, Jack is sitting on a chair, eating a heart that clearly belonged to the doctor. Dean shudders, trying to keep himself from gagging. He's seen some whacked out, straight up insane things, but that's definitely up there on the disturbing scale. He stares at Cas for any kind of explanation that could make sense of it all.

Cas shrugs. "The doctor was a Grigori. It seems like Jack is going after them almost systematically. He killed two in Mississippi, one in Missouri, one in Nebraska, and one in Montana. Every time I get to a town that he's supposedly in, I lose track of him. Luckily, he's in the area I'm staying at now," Cas says, frowning again as he looks at his hands. "I was hoping Sam would lend a hand. My powers aren't exactly what they were."

"I can help," Dean offers quickly, and hopes that his silent plea translates over. Dean regrets many things in his life, but the way things ended with Jack is right at the top of the list, so if there's even the slightest hope that he can make amends, he needs to try. Jack is his kid; he's _their_ kid. He can't expect Cas to forgive him for it, but he can help. When Cas doesn't say anything, Dean begs, "Please let me help, Cas. He's my responsibility too."

Cas’s face softens just a fraction, and he nods. "We should probably leave before we lose him again."

~

Dean shoots Sam a quick text to tell him that he's heading out with Cas and that he'll let him know if something important comes up. Sam's first reply is a thumbs up emoji, followed by a standard text insisting that they both stay safe and out of sight. He doesn't know how long they'll be away for, so he packs a bag and loads everything they could possibly need into the Impala. Cas stays quiet throughout it all, casually looking at something on his phone or otherwise occupying himself away from Dean. 

The drive to Montana is quiet. Cas sleeps quite a bit, despite not needing it, and Dean can't help but realize that it's probably just to avoid conversation. If he's not sleeping, he's staring out the window at the passing scenery. Dean fidgets with the tape player and slips in the mixtape he made for Cas years ago. He eyes Cas deliberately and a flicker of recognition passes over Cas's face before he turns back to the window, staring out at the expansive farmland. Dean sighs and turns back to the road, resigned to the fact that they probably won't talk.

Dean tries focusing on the mission, on Jack, on anything that isn't Cas, but he can't. They've been broken for years now, either running away from each other or pushing each other away; Chuck might have hit the final nail in the coffin when he killed Jack, but Dean knows he built the coffin to bury Cas in long before he even knew about Chuck's manipulations. His anger and his pride caught up to them, and Cas walked away, and Dean isn’t sure that he’s ever coming back. 

Cas is staring out the window at the dark sky above them when they cross state lines into Montana. Dean catches his face as they pass under a street light. His dark hair curls at the back; he stares at the curve of his cheekbones, the quiet downward turn of his eyes, the perpetual frown on his lips. Dean drags his eyes away. He clears his throat and asks, "What are we going to do when we find him?"

Cas doesn't lift his head from where he's leaning against the window. "I was thinking about taking him to a local diner and getting him a burger."

Dean lets out a low chuckle at that. "Probably better than what he's been eating." Cas hums in agreement but doesn't say anything else. The silence between them feels strange. It's not like Cas is much of a talker under normal circumstances, but the strain is unbearable right now. Quietly, Dean says, "You know I miss him too, right?"

Cas lifts his head to finally look at Dean. He studies Dean, his blue eyes unreadable. Eventually, he says, "I know."

 _And I miss you too_ goes entirely unsaid because Dean has never been good at swallowing his pride and admitting when he's wrong. Not even when Cas stares at him expectantly. Dean tries to say something to continue the conversation, but everything he could say at that moment feels inadequate at best and actively inappropriate at worst. When Dean doesn't say anything, Cas shakes his head, like he's confirming a silent theory he had, before he turns away to look out the window.

~

Dean swaps his flannel out for his Fed suit as soon they get to the lake town Cas is staying in. The cynical side of Dean wonders if Cas intentionally found the furthest, most remote place he could find just to get away from him. 

"The old sheriff in town was a djinn," Cas explains as he shrugs his trench coat off. He folds it neatly and drops it into the trunk of the Impala; the action triggers another memory of another trench coat that Dean hauled from car to car during another period in time where Cas wasn't there. Dean closes his eyes to calm the memory of the black goo, still utterly vivid in his mind. If Cas notices anything, he doesn't react. "I don't know who the new sheriff is, but I'm sure they would be willing to help."

"Right," Dean says absentmindedly. At least until Cas's statement hits him, and a sudden fear loops around in his gut. "You hunted a djinn here?"

Cas shrugs. "Hunted is probably an exaggerated term, but I took care of it without much harm to myself. I was just in the area, and a woman's son was missing and well —" Cas hesitates, something passing over his face that Dean couldn't place until now, but suddenly the pieces fall into place. Dean should have known.

"Are you okay?" Dean asks as they make their way up the stairs to the Sheriff's office. Even though they're actively looking for him, Jack still remains a very sore subject, and Dean doesn't want to push those buttons if he's going to regret it later. When Cas doesn't say anything, Dean tries again. "You know, what happened with Jack was a tragedy."

"A tragedy of our own making," Cas says. "I live with that guilt every single day."

Dean doesn't know why he didn't realize it sooner, but Cas looks _exhausted_. For someone who doesn't need to sleep, Cas looks like he needs a week's worth of it. Dean knows that he probably doesn't look any better. It's been one sleepless night after another, and it always comes back to the same things; Mary's death, Jack's death, Cas, himself. It's probably taking as much out of Cas as it's taking out of him.

"Me too," Dean admits. 

Cas's eyes widen in surprise before settling into something more knowing, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, sad, smile. Dean feels a glimmer of hope as he opens the door leading into the building, ready to flash his badge. 

~

There is an abandoned church three miles outside of town, and Cas immediately bristles when he gets out of the car, pulling his trench coat tighter around him. Dean scans the building; there’s nothing out of the ordinary, but there could be strong warding he doesn't know about. 

"He's here," Cas whispers, eyeing the church with some apprehension. "I'm surprised Chuck hasn't found him with the amount of energy he's radiating."

Dean exhales sharply. "Consider it a win for us."

Dean exchanges a look with Cas as they walk up to the church entrance. The muscles in Cas’s face are set into a quiet determination, and Dean knows that look. It’s the one where nothing in the universe can stop Cas from protecting Jack, no matter what he finds on the other side; it’s the one that was fixed on Dean in the cemetery as he pointed that gun at Jack. He can feel his throat constricting, a foreboding sense of shame rushing through him. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself, and follows Cas into the church.

It takes a minute for Dean’s eyes to adjust to the haze of the church, but he spots a figure illuminated by the dim light shining through one of the stained windows. Jack stands tall next to the altar, next to a discarded body on the ground. Dean glances sideways at Cas, who freezes as he stares ahead. Dean feels like he’s in a trance, like he’s not actually here, and Jack isn’t actually alive. It’s Cas who breaks the energy first, taking a step forward.

"Hello," Jack says, voice clear as day in the empty church, as he raises one hand in greeting. Dean doesn’t know what to look at; his eyes flicker back and forth between the dead body and Jack before settling on Jack’s face. There’s a lengthy silence between the three of them, but Jack steps forward and says, “I can explain.”

Dean hears Cas exhale sharply next to him before he wordlessly crosses the room towards Jack. He kicks the body with his foot, and when it turns over, he hunches over to examine the body, tracing the hole where the heart is supposed to be with his finger. Dean takes several steps closer and picks up a discarded angel blade, which clearly belongs to whoever Jack killed. Cas pokes at the body once more before standing and wiping his hands on his trench coat. He hesitates a moment before he pulls Jack into a tight hug. Dean stands back as Jack drops his head to Cas's shoulder, and Cas pulls him in even closer. When they break apart, Dean notices that Cas's eyes are misty. He cups Jack’s face with one hand, his face trembling with unspoken emotions.

Cas takes a step to the side, which allows Dean to finally face Jack. He glances at Cas, expecting anger and betrayal, but instead getting a knowing look, a silent plea that Dean should do the right thing. Dean nods slowly and takes a step forward until he’s right in front of Jack. He reaches a hand out to cup Jack's face, and Jack’s eyes widen in surprise. There’s so much unsaid swimming in the blues of Jack’s eyes; the hurt, the betrayal, the _fear_. Dean pulls Jack in close, hugging him tightly. Jack tenses for a moment, his hands dangling around his sides, before he reaches around to wrap them around Dean.

"Hey, kid," Dean says, completely unable to keep his voice from wavering. He blinks rapidly, trying not to tear up. "It's been a while.” 

Jack eyes Dean carefully, and just for the briefest moment, a flash of guilt spreads across his face. It dissipates so quickly that if Dean hadn't known better, he would have missed it.

"Hello, Dean,” Jack says hesitantly. He looks down at the body and frowns. “I have a lot to tell you, but I can’t do it here.”

~

"So Billie sprung him from The Empty as soon as Chuck went off-world?" Sam asks over the video call. Dean looks over Jack's shoulders at the laptop screen on the kitchen island in Cas's cabin. Sam's face is pinched in confusion and vague anxiety like he always seems to be sporting these days. 

Dean just shrugs in response. 

"Well, at least we got Jack back. I don't know if we can trust Billie, but if this works, we might finally be free," Sam says with a shake of the head.

Dean doesn’t know how true that is. This whole situation is insane, but that's about on course for their lives. At this point, Dean isn’t sure that anything would set them free except dying, and even that doesn’t seem to be a sure thing. He says, "One thing at a time, okay? We don't even know what the plan is."

Cas wanders into the room, drops a jar of paint in the corner, and leans against the island, his shoulders brushing against Dean's. Despite trying to ignore the warmth radiating off Cas, Dean feels a jolt of electricity, and he wants to touch him; he wants to take Cas’s hand, touch the pulse point behind his wrist. Instead, Dean stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, curling his fingers together, and focusing on the screen where Sam is asking another question.

"She says that I need to get stronger because I'm the only one that can defeat Chuck," Jack explains, rubbing the nape of his neck. Dean exchanges a silent look with Cas and then with Sam, the worry palpable on all their faces in equal measure. "She said that I need to stay hidden and not use my powers, and she'll reach out to me as soon as it's time."

"Well, we're always here if you need any help," Sam says, smiling gently at Jack, but Dean can tell that Sam doesn’t like it. None of them do. 

"I know," Jack tells him. "I'll keep you posted."

~

"So, when are we heading back to the bunker?" Dean asks Cas when Jack hangs up the call. Cas doesn't look at Dean and instead exchanges looks at Jack, a wordless conversation passing between the two. Dean frowns. "What?"

"We're not coming back to the bunker, Dean," Cas says with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. 

Dean blinks and looks between Jack and Cas. "What the fuck do you mean that you're not coming back to the bunker?" He tries really hard to keep his voice level, but Cas's face immediately closes off, and he clenches his jaw in a way that tells Dean that Cas doesn’t want to have this conversation, but Dean doesn’t care. Dean glares. "We drove all this way to get Jack and _go home_. That was the plan."

"No," Cas says, sharply. "The plan was that you would help me find Jack — which I thank you for, but I never said I was coming back, and I've spoken to Jack about staying here."

"Unbelievable," Dean says, voice rising dangerously. He throws his hands into the air in exasperation. Of course, Cas doesn't want to come back to the bunker with him. _Of fucking course_. It's not like this is anything new. Cas practically makes it his mission to leave every chance he gets, so really, it's Dean's fault for getting his hopes up. But for a moment there, he really thought that getting Jack back would change things. He glares at Cas again.

Cas just gives him a flat, unimpressed look before turning to Jack. "Jack, go upstairs to the room I have set up for you." Jack opens his mouth to argue, but Dean raises a brow at him. Jack immediately closes his mouth, grabs his laptop, and makes his way up the stairs. 

"Don't be an idiot, Cas," Dean says as soon as Jack is out of earshot. "You and the kid aren't safe here, and the last thing I need is —" _The last thing I need is you or Jack dying again_. It's at the tip of Dean's tongue, and he could say it, but he doesn't because if there’s one thing that he’s better than most people at, it’s not saying things like that. Instead, Dean narrows his eyes at Cas. "The last thing we need is to blow Billie's plan because you want to be reckless."

Cas raises a brow. "I'm an angel, and Jack is one of the most powerful beings in the universe. I think we'll be fine."

Dean groans and runs a hand over his face in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You said it yourself — your powers aren't what they were, and Jack can't use his powers unless he wants to set off a beacon for Chuck."

"I'm not coming back," Cas says, crossing his arms across his chest. Dean opens his mouth to argue, but Cas raises a hand. "I made up my mind, Dean."

"Fine," Dean says. If that's how Cas wants to do this, he'll play along. He needs to talk to Cas, and he needs to fix this, and if that means groveling, well, Dean probably deserves that. "If you want to be stubborn and stay here, that's fine, but I'm not leaving here without you, so you better have a couch I can sleep on."

"Right," Cas says cooly, not looking at Dean. He moves towards the discarded jar of paint, picks it up, and hands it over to Dean. "If you want to stay, then start painting the warding." 

Dean walks towards the wall, facing away from Cas. “Whatever you want.”

“Wait,” Cas says hesitantly. Dean turns to look at him, and the visible tension in Cas’s face lets down just a fraction. "There is a second bedroom upstairs. I can sleep on the couch. It’s not like I need much sleep."

"No, it's fine. I'll take the couch," Dean tells him with a dismissive wave. 

"As you wish," Cas says before leaving the room. Dean watches him walk up the stairs before turning back to painting.

~

It shouldn’t be easy to avoid people in a cabin as small as Cas’s is, but that’s what happens. Dean doesn’t get any sleep the first night, so he finds himself up early. He walks down the path from the cabin to the grocery store. He picks up eggs and bacon, tries cooking, and hopes the smell would draw Cas and Jack out of their respective rooms. It doesn’t quite work, and Dean heads back into the living room and pulls out his laptop to work. The second day is a little better because Jack comes downstairs in his pajamas. His hair is unruly, and he looks terrible.

Dean raises a brow at him, and Jack shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Dean agrees, even if both of them know that’s bullshit. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jack’s face closes off, averting his gaze to the cold eggs on the kitchen island. “Not really.” He picks up his plate and walks up the stairs, and Dean can hear the bedroom door shutting in the distance.

“Nice chat,” Dean mutters to himself.

~

Dean doesn't see Cas until the third day. 

He wakes up earlier than he intends, and he’s about to fall back asleep when he hears movement in the kitchen. When Dean walks in, he sees Cas moving around with a level of ease that he hasn't seen before. Not even at the bunker. Dean leans against the door frame and watches Cas pour himself a mug of coffee, with his back turned to Dean. His hair is mussed, and he's in a thin white t-shirt, and Dean doesn't remember the last time he's seen Cas dressed down. His chest flutters lightly at the sight.

"Hey," Dean says, voice still rough from sleep. Cas immediately flinches before turning around to face him; he leans against the counter, wrapping his hands tightly around his coffee mug. Dean already knows that he's facing an uphill battle when he sees Cas’s face and it’s as blank as ever, clearly not in the mood to see Dean, let alone talk to him. Cas slants his head to the side but doesn't say anything. 

Dean tries to sound upbeat when he says, "So, what's the plan for today?"

"I'm driving to Sioux Falls," Cas says, after a lengthy pause. Dean knows he probably looks comical with how quickly his mouth drops and his brows shoot up. What the hell does Cas need to go to Sioux Falls for anyways? He doesn't need to wonder for long, though. Cas takes a sip of his coffee and eyes Dean carefully over the cup. "Claire called last night, and she might have a lead on Kaia’s killer, and she asked for help."

Dean's brows draw together in confusion. "And you think she's right?"

"Probably not," Cas admits. 

Dean isn't even all that sure that they should be finding Dark Kaia right now, considering the spear they promised her is long destroyed, but he also knows that Claire needs to put the Kaia situation to bed, and she'll do whatever she can for that. 

Cas seems to follow his train of thought because he nods, a knowing expression flickers over his face. "Yes, I figure that she needs closure as well, and I want to be there for her.” He pauses, smiling slightly, in the sad way that he does sometimes. “She doesn't reach out to me that often, so I don't want to disappoint her."

"That's fair," Dean says. It can’t be easy for either of them. Claire is trying really hard to come to terms with her father’s death, and Cas’s role in it; Cas, for his part, is trying desperately to be there for her. It’s just complicated.

Cas pushes himself off the counter and settles down on one of the bar stools. He opens a newspaper, pulling out a pen from his pocket, and gets to work on the daily crossword puzzle. Dean makes his way to the coffee machine, pulling open one of the cupboards above to get a cup, and silently pours himself coffee. He eyes Cas furtively, but Cas pretty much ignores him, focusing on his puzzle instead. The early morning sunlight is drifting through the window above the sink, so Dean pulls apart the blinds to let the sunlight in.

"There's something else I want to tell you, Dean," Cas says, suddenly, breaking the stillness in the room. His voice is calm and level, but Dean can see the effort it's taking Cas to keep it there. He doesn’t look at Dean, and instead flips from one side of the newspaper to the other. "I know you want to stay here and help, but I would really prefer not to be around you right now."

There have been a lot of times where Dean appreciates Cas's bluntness and honesty, but he would be lying if it doesn't sting. His first instinct is to shout — to tell Cas that he can leave if Cas doesn’t want him here, which he clearly doesn’t — but, Dean knows deep down that if he walks away without fixing this, he’ll never have another chance to. It’s not like it matters though because when he tries speaking, his throat constricts and the words don’t come out. _I’m sorry, Cas. Give me a chance._

Cas doesn’t actually want a reply, though, because he pushes himself off the stool and walks out the kitchen without waiting for Dean to say something. Dean feels like an empty shell as he follows Cas out to the living room where Cas has a duffle bag packed. He watches Cas pick up his angel blade; he eyes it with a focused intensity that Dean has only ever seen in battle. Cas doesn’t look at Dean, doesn’t say a word — hell, he doesn’t move. The air between them is so brittle that it could snap at any moment, and if it doesn’t, Dean feels like he would.

"Can we talk about this?" Dean finally asks. Cas drags his eyes away from the blade just to give him a blank look, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Dean slumps his shoulders and looks down and away from Cas. "Look, I'm really sorry for what I said, and you know I didn't mean it."

"Actually, I don't," Cas says, his voice low and dangerous. When Dean meets his eyes, the anger flashes like electricity behind them, and Dean is instantly transported back to their first meeting in that barn. Cas, terrifying and strange, could have disintegrated Dean with a snap of his fingers, and Dean still decided to test him. He finds that he’s decidedly more nervous now than he was then. Now, Cas’s anger is personal.

Dean swallows hard and tries to plead with just his eyes. Cas, who probably knows him better than anyone else, gives him a flat look, his mouth twisting wryly. He says, "I don't know anything, actually. Time and time again, you push me away, and whenever things go wrong, you lash out at me. I don’t deserve that, Dean.”

Dean flinches. God, he’s such an ass. Reigning his emotions in as much as he can, Dean tries again. "I know that, but — but when Chuck told us that nothing about our lives is real, I reacted badly. I just — I didn't think my actions mattered because nothing mattered anymore. I was just so lost, Cas.”

"You don't think I was lost too?" Cas asks, with a crack in his voice, betraying his anguish. He fingers his blade carefully and twists it in his hands; his anger is only betrayed by the way his hand trembles around the blade. "Jack was _dead_ , Dean. You didn't even give me a moment to grieve that properly."

Dean bows his head in shame. There’s not much he could say to that, so he says what he knows is true. "I'm really sorry, Cas."

"It's not good enough," Cas says with a shake of the head. “Not this time.”

Dean immediately closes his eyes and tries to blink away the wetness pooling in his eyes. When he opens his eyes again, Cas's mouth is flat. He studies Dean with a sharp precision that only Cas can manage, and Dean feels like his insides are on fire. The way Cas can see right through him, no matter how many barriers he puts up, will always get to him. Cas has seen every inch of his soul, several times over, and he’s never looked as resigned as he does in this moment.

Cas sighs and rubs a hand over his face, pinching the spot between his brows. His voice is tired when he says, "I know you're sorry, Dean, and I do appreciate your apology. I just don't think I can forgive you right now. You needed time to forgive me for what happened with your mother, and I think I'm entitled to take my time to make sure things will change with you. I can't be your ‘punching bag’ for whenever things go wrong."

Dean's shoulders tremble, and he lets out a shaky sigh. "Okay. That’s — that’s okay.” He’s fine, really.

"Okay," Cas echoes him. His eyes don’t look furious anymore; instead, when Dean catches his eyes, he can see Cas’s hurt. His mouth is drawn in a thin line as he turns away to walk up the stairs.

"You are coming back, right?" Dean calls after him. 

Cas freezes on the stairs. "Of course. I promised Jack that I'll be back in three days."

"Right," Dean nods. "Call me if you need help?" He means for it to be a statement, but it comes out as a question anyway. 

Cas doesn't say anything for a long time, but eventually, he says, "I will, and please watch over Jack. He's still soulless." Cas pauses before turning around to walk down the stairs. When he gets to the last step, he looks at Dean, face softening a fraction, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. "And try talking to him. Despite what you think, he still cares very deeply about your approval and love."

Dean slumps his shoulders. He knows he should just rip the bandaid off, but every time he thinks about Jack, all he can see is the box and the gun, and the shame washes over him, skating over his skin like a scar; but, Cas is looking at him with such gentle hope that Dean says, “Okay, I will.”

Cas just nods before walking up the stairs. He doesn't say goodbye before he leaves for Sioux Falls.

~

The cabin is eerily quiet. Jack occasionally comes out of his room and puts up a hand in greeting, but generally passes by without saying much of anything. Dean knows that he should probably talk to him, but he also knows that Jack doesn’t deal well with being pushed to talk, especially since he’s lost his soul. Several glasses of whiskey in, Dean calls Cas to check in on the case in Sioux Falls, but it goes straight to voicemail which, obviously, it does. Feeling restless and bored, Dean decides to call Sam, which ends up being a bit of a mistake.

"You're going _where_?"

"Hell," Sam says over the phone. Leave it to Sam to use Dean’s absence to come up with another mind-blowingly terrible idea. Dean opens his mouth to argue, but Sam continues, "Listen, the archangels were there when Chuck locked Amara up, right?"

Dean hums in affirmation. “Right.”

"Well, whatever worked on Amara should work on Chuck, and Michael is the only archangel left, and he might still be in the cage. It's worth following up on, just in case Billie’s plan doesn’t work," Sam explains.

Dean has to admit that it's not the faultiest logic he's heard, and it's probably worth a shot. "I still don't like it. Hell, we don't even know who's in charge down there."

"I do," Sam says. "Rowena."

Dean blinks in confusion. “ _Rowena?_ ” 

"Yes, our Rowena," Sam confirms with a hint of pride in his voice. Dean lets out a low chuckle. Of course, Rowena is the new Queen of Hell. If anyone is fitting of the title, it's her. "She said that she'll do me a solid and help me track down Michael. With his help, maybe we'll come up with something."

"I need to run it by Cas, but Jack and I could come back to the bunker to help," Dean offers. He feels restless and he just needs to punch something. 

"No, Dean," Sam says, automatically. "You need to stay there and fix things with Cas."

Dean opens his mouth to argue but closes it again. Sam is silent for a long time, and Dean pulls the phone back from his ear to make sure he didn't accidentally hang up, but then Sam says, "I don't know what happened between you two, but I know you were messed up for a while, and so was Cas."

Dean snorts. "Understatement of the fucking year."

"And I know you care about him," Sam says with careful, practiced patience that only Sam can really manage. There's another lengthy pause. Sam clears his throat. "Dean, I didn't want to bring this up because it's none of my business, but I remember how you were when Cas died, and I know whatever you have with him, it's a hell of a lot more than you have with anyone else in this world." 

He doesn't know what he wants to say to that. He knows that he should argue it, say that it's not like _that_ ; that he doesn’t need Cas. Except he knows it’s bullshit, and Sam probably knows it too. He could say that he needs Cas like he needs air; that he needs Cas like he needs something entirely separate from this world and the next, and none of that matters because Cas wants nothing to do with him right now. But, of course, Dean would rather die than say any of that out loud. Sam can fill in the blanks if he wants to. Hell, he probably already has.

"Fix it," Sam says firmly when Dean doesn’t reply. "Fix it before you regret it because our lives are dangerous, and we've lost too many people, and you never know when it's going to fall apart."

"It would be a lot easier if he was open to fixing it," Dean bites out. He's trying here, he's trying really fucking hard, but Cas doesn't want to hear it. 

"Maybe you're not saying the right thing," Sam suggests. 

"Maybe," Dean agrees. He just has no idea where to start.

~

Dean knows Jack isn’t sleeping well; hell, he’s not sleeping well, and he’s had way less to deal with than Jack has recently. The second night after Cas left, Dean finds himself up late, not quite knowing what to do. He debates calling Sam or Cas, but Sam _definitely_ has middle of the night plans now that he and Eileen have the bunker to themselves, and he’s pretty sure talking to Dean is dead last on the list of things Cas actually wants to do. 

Dean spent most of the afternoon shopping for groceries and kitchen utensils, and it offered up a nice distraction. He picks up everything that anyone could want; there are eggs for Jack, bacon for Dean, and hazelnut coffee for Cas. With everything in the kitchen, Dean can bake with ease, a habit he formed at the bunker whenever he couldn’t sleep which is an annoyingly common occurrence these days. It’s almost midnight when Jack strolls into the kitchen, looking worse for wear. 

Dean looks up from where he’s pulling the cookie tray from the oven. “Hey.”

“Oh, you’re awake,” Jack says with some surprise. He leans against the kitchen island, where Dean places the cookie tray to cool. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean admits. Jack takes one of the cookies and bites of a corner. For a fraction, his eyes light up, and Dean smiles to himself. “Good?”

“They’re good,” Jack confirms and takes another bite, sitting down on one of the bar stools. He stretches his arms above his head, yawning loudly. There are dark circles under his eyes. 

Dean never really considers exhaustion when it comes to cosmic beings. Cas doesn’t need to sleep, but he still gets tired. His grace is rapidly fading, and Dean found Cas hunched over in pain more than once recently. Jack does sleep, but it’s a lot less than most humans. Although coming back from the dead, especially from The Empty, probably takes a lot out of someone. 

“How are you feeling?” Dean asks as he plops down onto the stool across from Jack, who smiles a smile so obviously forced that Dean has to roll his eyes. “And don’t say you’re fine.” Jack opens his mouth to say something, possibly to argue that’s not what he wants to say, when Dean says, “Trust me, Jack, you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. So, spill.”

Jack looks away to focus on the tray. His face grows pensive as he rearranges the cookies into a perfectly straight line. A brief flare of worry ignites in Dean’s gut. He’s never been good at this part; he’s not a father, not really. He tried to be one with Ben, but that went about as well as one would expect when it came to Dean’s life. Claire isn’t really his kid — sure, he sees her as a daughter, but Jody is the one that takes care of all the tough conversations. Jack is different, and Dean knows that, and that’s the scary part. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but it might help you work through it if you do,” Dean offers again.

Jack looks up and Dean smiles encouragingly. Jack bites his bottom lip, a flicker of nerves crossing over his face before he sighs. “I don’t feel anything, and that scares me. Logically, I know things that are true, like —” Jack hesitates, a hint of something Dean can’t read passes over his face. He slowly presses on, “Like I know that I feel bad about killing your mother.” 

Dean pales. He clenches and unclenches his hands at his side. Jack stares at him, his blue eyes widening, and Dean inhales sharply, focusing on steadying his breath. He can do this; he _has_ to do this. Mary was always going to be a sore topic between them, but Dean can’t run from it forever. Not when Jack, soulless and an actual child, is willing to talk about it. Dean meets Jack’s eyes and nods slowly. 

“I know I feel bad about killing her, and I know it’s my fault,” Jack explains slowly, his face scrunching up in concentration, like he’s picking every word carefully. Dean curls his fingers around a cookie. Jack lets out a sigh, dropping his face into his hands. “And I know I miss her a lot because she was kind, beautiful, and so strong. I know you don’t forgive me, and I feel bad about that.” There’s a slight tremble in Jack’s voice now. “But, Dean, I don’t _feel_ any of this, and it scares me.”

“I forgive you,” Dean says suddenly. Jack’s eyes widen in surprise, and Dean knows his own face would betray his shock at how true that is. He was angry; hell, he’s probably still angry, and he might be angry for a long time, but it’s not Jack’s fault. It took him awhile to get here, but with everything happening with Chuck, it seems so utterly pointless holding it over Jack. It’s not like Jack chose to become soulless. They saddled him with that burden, all because they couldn’t deal with his death. So, yeah, he misses his mother, but he missed Jack just as much. Dean clears his throat. He repeats, “I forgive you, Jack, and you’re wrong because you’re clearly feeling a lot right now, and --” Dean hesitates, thinking about his words. “And, I’m really sorry, too.” 

It’s Jack’s turn to fix him with a confused look. 

“I’m not good at this,” Dean admits, waving between them. “You know, my old man got on my case whenever I brought up how I felt, so for a long time, I didn’t know how to talk about things, and I still don’t. When I put you in that box —” Dean freezes, and Jack’s face falls. It takes everything in Dean not to hurl from the way his gut turns at the fear that crosses over Jack’s face. Dean says, “When I put you in that box, I did it because I was scared, but — but, I should have been there, and I should have tried harder to understand, and for that, I’m sorry.”

Jack is silent for a very long time. He doesn’t look at Dean; instead, he moves the cookies on the tray into a neat, little pile before knocking it over and starting over again. Dean fidgets with a loose string on his shirt just so he has something to do with his hands. When Jack still doesn’t say anything, Dean feels restless. He blurts out, “And I never should have pulled that gun on you. Jack, you deserve way better than me.”

“You were hurting, Dean,” Jack says finally, meeting Dean’s eyes, and forcing a smile.

“That doesn’t make it better,” Dean argues. “I used to say that to my dad, you know. When he’d be an absolute scumbag, I’d tell him it was okay. Hell, I told him that _last year_ , but it’s not. Whatever I did to you isn’t okay either, but I want to make it up to you.”

“But, Dean,” Jack says, slowly, his face pinches in confusion. “You were there for me. You took care of me when I was sick, you taught me to drive, and you said _yes_ to Michael to save me.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, that went really well.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Jack says with a shrug, but there’s a hint of an actual smile crossing over his face now. Sounding far wiser than his years, Jack says, “I forgive you, Dean, and I hope you can forgive yourself.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Dean chokes out. Cas had said that despite everything, Jack still cares about his love, and Dean doesn’t know what he did to deserve that. Hell, he doesn’t deserve it, but Jack is willing to offer it anyway. Dean tries smiling. “We will get your soul back. I promise you that.”

Jack gives him a look, very clearly not buying that, which Dean supposes is fair because he has no fucking clue how they’re going to do that, but there’s a lightness between them now. Dean watches fondly as Jack picks up another cookie, biting into it with a smile. Dean stares at him for too long, he knows, but it’s been a long time since he’s had a chance to do this with Jack. It’s always been one of Dean’s favorite things; he would sneak Jack out on a hunt and they would come back to the bunker and eat sugary cereal. Sam would hate it because, of course, Sam would hate it, but Cas would catch them and smile that half-smile of his before joining them quietly. Dean picks up a cookie, smiling wistfully at the memory. 

“Are you and Castiel fighting?” Jack asks, suddenly, bringing Dean out of his thoughts.

Dean frowns. “It’s complicated.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Dean asks, raising a brow.

“I mean, why is it complicated?” Jack asks slowly. “I mean, you and Castiel love each other, so whatever you’re fighting about isn’t a big deal, right?”

Dean hates that he chose that moment to take a bite of his cookie because he chokes. “We — what?” Jack just furrows his brows in confusion. Dean swallows hard and clears his throat. He debates whether it’s worth explaining why they’re fighting to Jack. Dean sighs. “I said some things to Cas that I didn’t really mean, and neither of us is in a good enough place to talk it out yet.”

“But you can fix it, right?” Jack asks. “You’ll fix it, and we’ll go back to the bunker, and everything will be back to normal, right?”

Dean feels like his head is going to explode. It’s like he’s explaining a divorce situation to Jack right now and that he should tell the boy that mommy and daddy are fighting right now, but they still love him very much. But, he pushes _that_ thought away because that’s not what this situation is. 

Instead, he says, “We’ll figure it out. Promise.”

Jack grins at him, and Dean just hopes he can keep that promise.

~

Dean takes Jack fishing the third day after Cas leaves for Sioux Falls. There’s a lake at the bottom of a short hiking trail that runs behind the cabin. Dean is surprised to find that Cas already has all the fishing gear they need at the cabin — the idea that Cas is going fishing in his free time fills Dean with a certain warmth he can’t place. It’s a quiet day, and Dean spends most of the afternoon drinking from his flask while Jack fishes. Cas is supposed to be back at some point during the day, but every time Dean calls, it goes to voicemail. He tries praying, hoping that would reach Cas, but it’s not like he has much to say about anything. _Hey, man, are you okay? Is Claire okay? Can you hear me?_

Jack eyes him with the same innocent curiosity that he views most of the world. Despite Jack not being Cas’s actual kid, there are moments when the resemblance is uncanny. 

“Are you praying to Cas?” Jack asks at some point when Dean has his eyes closed.

“Not really. I was just thinking,” Dean hums. Thinking about Cas, but still. He looks up to see the sun high in the sky, and pulls his hook out of the water, dropping his pole to the side. Dean pats Jack on the shoulder, smiling. “How about we head back to the cabin and I fix us lunch?”

He spots Cas’s truck parked on the gravel path leading to the cabin as they make their way off the trail. Dean moves to unlock the door, turning the light on in the entryway. The first thing he sees is Cas’s discarded blade and wallet on the kitchen table before he sees Cas on the couch. He’s on his back, an arm thrown over his face, with his eyes closed. The trench coat is discarded on the floor and his tie is undone.

“Hey,” Dean says, walking towards the couch. He leans down to place a gentle hand on Cas’s shoulder. Immediately, Cas jerks awake, panic palpable on his face, and his eyes flicker between Dean and Jack before his breathing calms down and something like recognition settles on his face. Dean squeezes Cas’s shoulder’s gently. “You okay?”

“I fell asleep,” Cas says, tilting his head quizzically, and meeting Dean’s eyes briefly before averting them to his hands. “It’s been happening a lot more recently.”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that Cas has been struggling a lot lately. It’s not just that his wings are clipped and his powers are limited, it’s the simple things that are getting to him now. He’s visibly aging in ways that a lot of angels don’t. Dean doesn’t know all the details, but he knows that whatever it is, it’s probably not a good thing.

Cas drops his head back to the pillow, and Dean quickly moves the blanket so that he’s wrapping Cas in it. He places a hand on Cas’s shoulder again, in what he hopes is comforting, before standing up. “Just get some rest.”

Dean puts away Cas’s trench coat in the hall closet and puts away the fishing poles and bait. He walks into the kitchen to find Jack sitting at the kitchen table, frowning at his coffee mug. When he hears Dean walk into the room, his eyes shoot up. “Is Cas okay?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admits, trying hard to ignore the drop in his gut.

“We should take him back to the bunker,” Jack suggests.

“We will,” Dean agrees. Fight be damned. 

~

Dean paces around the living room, as quietly as he can manage with socked feet. He checks on Jack twice, and both times he finds Jack fast asleep, snoring slightly. He paces, and he paces, and he paces — and Cas doesn’t stir once. He calls Sam four times, and Sam runs through all the information he has. 

“Is he sick or is he tired?” Sam asks during the fourth phone call.

“I don’t fucking know, Sam,” Dean exasperates, keeping his voice low as to not wake Cas. “He’s probably just tired, but man, you should see him. It’s not a new thing, either. He slept the entire car ride here, and at first, I thought it was because he wanted to avoid talking to me, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Dean, calm down,” Sam tells him gently. “Look, as long as he’s not coughing up blood or fainting, maybe it’s just a side effect of everything he’s been through lately.”

Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face in frustration. “Fine, but keep looking just in case. We’re coming back tomorrow morning.”

Dean finds a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one of the cabinets, and drinks straight from the bottle, waiting. He’s scrolling through some files on his laptop when Cas lets out a low whine and Dean nearly trips over his feet to be at his side, but Cas doesn’t wake up; instead, he pulls the quilts up over his shoulder and curls into himself. Dean can’t resist reaching a hand out, pushing Cas’s hair out of his face to check for a fever, even if he knows that angels probably don’t get fevers. Dean collapses onto the chair adjacent to the couch and waits.

It’s a quarter after midnight when Cas finally wakes up. Dean is drifting off when he hears movement, and he immediately jerks awake. Cas is pushing the blankets away so he can sit up. 

“Hey,” Dean says, softly as to not startle Cas.

Cas blinks at him. “Dean?”

“Yeah, are you okay?” Dean asks. Cas runs a hand through his hair before fixing his tie. Dean says, “You scared the hell out of me, man.”

“Sorry,” Cas says, voice rough with sleep. “I struggled on the case with Claire. I don’t know what’s happening with my powers, but I can’t seem to do much of anything.” 

Dean can barely make out Cas’s face in the dark, the light from the kitchen barely trickling into the room. He keeps his voice low when he says, “We should go home tomorrow.” Cas’s face immediately transforms into defiance, but Dean cuts him off, meeting his gaze with a newfound determination. “I know you’re angry, and I know you want your space — and, listen, you can have all that at the bunker, but just in case this is something dangerous, I would much rather have the resources at the bunker to fix you.”

Cas hunches his shoulders and looks away. “What if you can’t?”

“What?” 

“What if you can’t?” Cas asks again, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. “What if you can’t fix me?” There’s a tremble in his voice as he speaks. “What if — Dean, what if my powers continue failing and I can’t get them back?”

Dean just stares at him incredulously. “As long as you’re alive, that’s all that matters. Even at the expense of your powers.”

“I’m of no use without them, Dean. I really couldn’t help Claire out on our hunt — which, luckily, was something minor and she was able to take care of it,” Cas says quietly, staring vacantly at the space between them. “Perhaps the best course of action is for me to burn through whatever is left of my grace and —” He inhales sharply, fixing his eyes on to Dean’s. “And then, burn out. At least then I could be of some use to you and the mission to defeat Chuck.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cas,” Dean snaps, far sharper than he intends, and Cas’s eyes widen. Dean can feel his hands trembling as he continues, “You can’t let yourself burn out just to be useful, okay? I don’t give a shit if you never do anything else _useful_ ever again. I just need —” Dean hesitates. _I just need you_. He’s said it before, but right then, with Cas hunched over, beyond defeated, Dean knows that’s not enough. 

“I just want you to be okay and I want you to stay, and I don’t give a crap if you can’t go on hunts anymore,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice from wavering but failing at it. “I don’t know what I need to do to convince you that I want you around because you’re you and not because you can do something useful.”

“I believe you mean that,” Cas says, his lips quirking up into a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s a _but_ there and Dean gives him an encouraging look, hoping Cas would say something else, but he doesn’t. Instead, he yawns again. “I think I should get some rest, and I think it’s best that you do as well. We have a long drive ahead of us.”

“Really?” Dean asks, mouth falling open in shock. “You’re coming back?”

Cas nods, but his face tightens. “But Dean, I need you to know that I still need time to work through — work through _us_ , but,” He pauses, looking down at his hands. “I am open to fixing it now.”

“I’ll take that as a win,” Dean admits, voice cracking slightly. 

There is a lot of grief and anger between them that’s been building for so long. They’ve spent so many years saying empty apologies, and forgiving each other for things that shouldn’t be forgiven as easily as they are, and maybe it’s time that they take their time with it. Sam is right; their lives are in constant upheaval and if this, whatever it is, between him and Cas is worth the pain, Dean figures it’s also worth the effort and time. It was never going to be an easy fix, but at least Cas is willing to try. 

Dean falls asleep in the chair next to Cas, and he finds that he sleeps through the whole night for once. 

~

It’s a long, quiet drive back to Kansas. It’s a sixteen hour drive for Dean at his best, but with Jack getting restless every few hours and Cas not being able to keep his eyes open, they decide to stop around the border between Wyoming and Nebraska. Dean parks them close to the main office of a run-down motel, turning the engine off. It’s getting late; nightfall has taken over, the moon high in the sky, and the vacant sign lighting up the parking lot. 

Dean swings open the door and spots an elderly woman reading a newspaper in the dim glow of the office. Dean puts on his best smile and approaches the woman. “Hey, we’re looking to book two rooms.”

“I’m sorry, boys,” The woman says, shrugging apologetically. “There’s only one room. It has two queens, if that would help.”

Dean eyes Cas and Jack behind him. Cas shrugs, yawning again. He sighs. “Yeah, that’ll be fine.” He takes the keys that the woman offers him.

The room is the standard Winchester fare. It’s small, consisting of two queen beds with bright orange sheets. A dusty olive carpet covers the floor, and the smell of cigarettes hangs in the air. Dean wrinkles his nose, takes his laptop out gently, before dropping his duffle bag in the corner. He makes a beeline for the shower. 

When he gets out, Cas already shrugged off his trench coat and his suit jacket, leaving him in his white button-down. Slowly, he takes that off too, with just the undershirt remaining. He doesn’t say anything before dropping down on the bed in the far corner and closes his eyes. Dean waits until Cas’s breathing steadies before turning to Jack, who is also watching Cas with concern.

“Are you getting anything off him?” Dean asks in a hushed voice.

“I can’t pick anything up, but I can’t use my powers,” Jack says, studying Cas for a minute, and a pang of worry flares in Dean when Jack shakes his head. “It’s probably nothing, but — well, I can usually detect an angel’s presence, even when their grace is as diminished as Castiel’s is. Right now, he almost seems human.”

“Yeah, well, Metatron did a number on him and now Heaven isn’t what it was,” Dean explains, trying not to give away how much that thought freaks him out. “At some point, I’m pretty sure all the remaining angels are going to be human, more or less.”

“That sounds horrible,” Jack says.

Dean shrugs. “I don’t think many of them had very happy lives as angels.” 

An unreadable expression flickers across Jack’s face, but Dean is too tired to figure that out. If Cas’s powers are failing, it’s probably something to do with Chuck or Heaven and right now, that’s the last thing he wants to poke at. He sighs. “Listen, Jack, you take the other bed. I’m going to take the couch.”

A storm blows through overnight, the wind rattles the motel’s windows and walls. The room is cold and musty, and Dean is shivering, pressed tightly against the back of the lumpy, uncomfortable sofa. He wasn’t expecting to get much sleep anyways, and the stop is only for Cas’s sake, but at this rate, he might as well sleep in the car. A particularly strong burst of lightning fills the room, and Dean buries his head under the blankets and tries to tune out the sound of the wind and the thunder.

“Dean?”

Cas’s voice is quiet but clear. Dean sticks his head out of the blankets. “Cas?”

“The couch doesn’t seem very comfortable,” Cas says as he sits up in his bed, his voice hoarse from just waking up. He mumbles, “We can share.” 

Dean thinks that he should probably argue, say that’s unnecessary and that the couch is absolutely fine, but he doesn't. He gets up, pulls his blanket around his shoulder like a cape, and crosses across the room, each step stiffer than the last. The bed creaks when Dean settles down on his side. Cas shifts slightly, moving the sheets so that he’s more comfortable. Dean focuses on the steady sound of Cas’s breathing just to avoid thinking about anything else, like the heat radiating off Cas’s body.

He’s about to fall asleep properly when he hears Cas’s soft, “Hey, Dean?” 

Dean hums to signal that he’s awake. Cas shifts so that he’s turning so that their bodies press up together until he’s close enough that Dean can make out every speck in his blue eyes, even in the dark. Dean’s gaze dips to where Cas’s collarbone peeks out of his shirt. Dean trails back up, meeting Cas’s eyes. 

Swallowing hard, Dean says, “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says quietly. Dean blinks down at Cas; he doesn’t have a clue what they’re talking about. Cas drifts closer, however impossible that is, their bodies slotting together easily. Cas lets out a soft breath, looking Dean in the eye. “I should have told you about Jack.”

Dean looks over Cas’s shoulder at where Jack’s sleeping form lay. Dean shakes his head. “You already apologized, Cas.”

Cas ignores him and barrels on, “I was just so desperate to save him. I had such faith that he would be good for the world — that he would be good for us, but when everything went wrong and God took him from us, I didn’t know what to do.”

Dean closes his eyes, trying to keep his memories from catching up to him again, but Cas places a light hand on his back, and Dean can feel the tension leave his body. He’s surprised how strong his voice sounds when he says, “It wasn’t all your fault. I knew he wasn't well, and I tried hard to ignore it too. Besides, we never would have been in that position if Chuck hadn’t played us.”

“No, Dean,” Cas says with a shake of the head, his voice gentle. “We made our own choices. Every choice I made, from when I pulled you out of Hell, has been mine and mine alone, and that includes every mistake I’ve made.” Dean remembers Cas’s words, clear as day, when he was so filled with rage that he couldn’t even let Cas explain. _You asked me what about all this is real. We are_. 

“Well, maybe we learned something from our terrible choices this time around,” Dean says, wryly. It almost gets a smile out of Cas, which he’ll take as a win. Dean doesn’t know what possesses him to reach one hand up, tracing Cas’s cheekbones lightly. He can feel Cas trailing the movement with his eyes, but Dean doesn’t drop his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to save him. I just hope you can forgive me for that one day.”

“I do forgive you, Dean.” 

This time Cas does smile for real, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, and Dean feels a sudden rush of warmth at the sight. He hates the thought that Cas isn’t smiling all the fucking time, and it’s probably his fault more often than not. _I love you so much,_ Dean thinks because he does and he has for a very long time, longer than he probably realized. If this was a movie, this is the part where Dean would tell Cas that, and maybe kiss him, but this isn’t a movie, and Dean can’t get the words out. So, he shifts, putting some space between them, and it’s like a trance breaks because Cas does the same thing.

Cas stares at him for a moment before he says, “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean manages, after a moment. 

~

“Oh come on, not in public spaces.”

Dean bites his tongue to keep himself from laughing as Sam and Eileen immediately register the fact that they’re not alone in the bunker. It takes a second, but Eileen immediately jumps from her place on Sam’s lap, buttoning her shirt, and turns to give them a mock salute. It takes Sam a little longer to catch up, as he scrambles around for his shirt, but when he does, he looks up at them, smiling sheepishly, the tips of his ears pink.

Cas immediately reaches a hand out to cover Jack’s eyes, but the damage is already done. Dean clears his throat. “Having fun, were we?”

“We were,” Eileen tells him, a twinkle in her eye. “Before you decided to come home and ruin it.”

“Oh well, we could leave,” Dean snickers, as they walk down the stairs. “Sammy doesn’t get laid often, so you know —”

“Alright, enough,” Sam says, rolling his eyes, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. Dean holds out his arms, ready for the hug, but Sam completely sidesteps him to pull Jack into a tight hug, smiling broadly. 

There’s plenty of hugs to go around, and Dean doesn’t know when they turned into the kind of family that hugs each other casually, but he finds that he kind of likes it. Dean plasters on the most convincing smile he can manage — not very convincing, and Sam raises a brow calling him out on it, and cooks dinner for everybody. It gives him something to do, to distract himself from worrying about Cas, but Dean still feels restless and twitchy. He waits until Eileen and Jack head to bed before facing Sam and Cas.

Cas is curled up tightly in one of the chairs in the library, using his trench coat as a blanket. Sam is sitting at the table, laptop opened in front of him, and Dean drops down across from Sam, opening his own computer. Dean watches Cas rub his eyes, attempt to crack his knuckles, mutter something to himself, and change positions in the chair. It’s only after Cas lets out a frustrated sigh that Dean finally asks, “Are you okay, buddy?”

Sam immediately looks up from his laptop, shooting a worrying glance in Cas’s direction. Cas coughs, which sends a sudden stab of anxiety through Dean. Cas clears his throat, tilting his head and squinting. “I think my head hurts.” He hesitates, narrowing his eyes in concentration. “And my knees — and, well, everything actually.”

Dean exchanges a look with Sam. Lines of stress form across Sam’s forehead. “How long?”

“A while,” Cas replies, considerately. He pulls his trench coat tightly around himself, and shivers, which immediately sends another shot of panic through Dean. He knows Sam catches it as well because he raises a brow at Cas, who just shrugs. “It started a few months ago. The battle with the souls from Hell took a lot out of me, but I was hoping that it was only temporary.”

“You should have told us,” Dean points out. “We could have done something about it.”

“I _tried_ ,” Cas says, nostrils flaring immediately. Okay, well, that’s fair. Dean immediately raises a hand in surrender. Cas just rolls his eyes. “I have a feeling that this is an expected side effect of Heaven losing its strength and Chuck’s bullet wound.”

Dean closes his laptop and sighs. He fixes Cas a look. “We’ll find a way to fix it.”

“I don’t think it can be fixed, Dean,” Cas says quietly. He picks himself off the chair, stretching an arm over his head, and drapes his trench coat over his shoulders. Cas yawns and walks towards the door, dropping a gentle hand to Dean’s shoulder. Dean eyes Cas’s hand before Cas pulls it away. The corners of his mouth quirk up into a small smile as he says, “I’ll be fine, Besides, we have bigger concerns at hand.”

Cas walks out of the library without saying anything else. Dean waits until the footsteps recede down the hallway before turning to Sam. He says, “So, we’re going to ignore that, and look for a way to fix him, right?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam says, rubbing the back of his neck before turning back to his laptop. He shifts in his seat and starts clicking around on his computer. “I think Cas is right; this might be out of our hands.”

“No,” Dean says, automatically, because he can’t give up. He’s already lost Cas enough times, and he’s not losing Cas again. Especially not now. “There has to be a spell somewhere that can help an angel regenerate his grace quicker.”

“Probably,” Sam agrees, but he doesn’t look up from his computer. For a moment, Dean wants to throw something at him to get him to focus; instead, he clears his throat loudly. Sam looks up and meets his eyes and sighs. “I’m sure there’s probably a spell in the Book of the Damned or the Black Grimoire, but we don’t have a witch that can pull that kind of magic off.”

“Rowena,” Dean says immediately. Isn’t that the obvious choice? 

“She’s the _Queen of Hell_ , Dean. It’s not like she’s easily accessible anymore,” Sam says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dean is about to point out that Crowley always was, but he doesn’t get a chance to because Sam closes his laptop gently, and studies Dean for a minute before his face softens. “Look, I know that you’re worried, but whatever this is, it’s probably just growing pains. He’s practically human now and with that comes normal things like arthritis and migraines. There’s nothing to suggest that he’s actually sick. Besides, it’s _Cas_. He’ll be fine. He always is.”

Dean swallows a lump in his throat, his body feeling uncharacteristically stiff. He crosses his arms across his chest and keeps his voice from trembling when he says, “He’s not always fine. Actually, if my memory serves me right, he’s _never_ fine. And I can’t lose him again, man, not when —” Dean hesitates, inhaling sharply. “Not when I just got him back.”

Understanding immediately crosses over Sam’s face. He leans forward and gives Dean a knowing look. “He’s not going anywhere, Dean. Let’s give it a few days, and if he’s not getting better, then we’ll go to Hell and ask Rowena for help. I promise.”

Dean still doesn’t like it, but he nods.

~

The one downside to living in an underground bunker is that Dean has to trade early morning sunlight trickling into the bedroom for infinite safety in the form of ancient magical warding. Logically, Dean knows that the reason why the bunker doesn’t have windows is that it’s dangerous for outsiders to catch what goes on inside, but he still hates it.

Dean gets out of bed early, pulling his dead man bathrobe tightly around himself as he walks down the empty hallways. As he turns the corner leading to the kitchen, the smell of coffee wafts down the hallway. When he makes it to the entryway, he spots Cas, dressed in soft track pants and a t-shirt, pouring himself coffee. His hair is sticking up in fifty different directions and his eyes are bleary. He glares at his coffee mug as if he could get the caffeine to kick in ahead of schedule; he pouts when that doesn’t seem to work, and it’s _adorable._ There’s just a softness to Cas in the morning that Dean doesn’t often get to see during the day, and Dean feels a flutter in his chest at the intimacy of it all. When Cas catches sight of Dean in the entryway, he tilts his chin up and smiles sleepily.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asks, crossing the room so that he’s leaning next to Cas, with his back to the counter. It might just be the soft glow of the kitchen light and the haze of an early morning, but Cas looks much better. The bags under his eyes are clearing, and he doesn’t look as bone-tired as he did. 

“Better,” Cas confirms, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. “It seems that human beings need way more rest than your habits have led me to believe.”

Dean huffs out a low chuckle, feeling immediately better at the thought of Cas recovering. “I’m not exactly the most functional human out there.”

“No, you aren’t,” Cas deadpans. Dean bristles with swift offense, but there’s no heat in it because Cas smiles, cocking his head to the side. When Dean scoffs, Cas schools his face into the picture of innocence. He blinks up at Dean and asks, “Coffee?”

When Dean nods, Cas puts his cup down and leans in front of Dean, stretching up to grab a coffee mug from the cabinet above Dean’s shoulder, his face mere inches from Dean’s own. Without thinking, Dean reaches out and grasps Cas’s hip, fingers draping over the thin cotton of his shirt, tracing his thumb along the band of Cas’s track bottoms, touching the skin right above. Cas’s breath hitches above him for just a fraction before he grabs the coffee mug.

Dean thinks Cas is going to pull away, so he loosens his grip just slightly, but Cas just moves around him to pour the coffee into the mug, so Dean tightens his grip again. It takes a moment and then Cas is in front of him, handing him the mug; Dean slides his hand over Cas’s, taking the coffee mug from him, and placing it on the counter behind him. Cas looks up at him, blinking, and Dean thinks, not for the first time, that he could drown in the blue of Cas’s eyes forever.

They get like this sometimes; infinitely comfortable in a way that Dean hasn’t been with anyone in a long time, or ever, if he’s being really honest about it. Months being apart, actively angry at each other, doesn’t change that. With his hand still on Cas’s waist, Dean takes a chance; he traces his hand along Cas’s hip bone, slides it under the hem of Cas’s t-shirt.

Quietly, Cas says, “Dean.”

“I’m just glad you’re feeling better,” Dean murmurs, not moving his hand away.

Cas opens his mouth to say something, but immediately closes it when someone clears their throat. Dean throws his head back to look at the ceiling, letting out a quiet, but exasperated, sigh. Cas wordlessly steps back, and Dean looks over his shoulder to where Eileen is standing by the door. She smirks at them, running a hand through her sleep-tousled hair. 

“Good morning, Eileen,” Cas says, signing with practiced precision.

“Coffee,” Eileen grumbles, passing them wordlessly to the coffee machine. She glares at it, just like Cas had done, before she fills her cup. She takes a sip, inhaling softly. “Nobody speak until I’m done.”

Cas and Dean exchange a look. The corners of Cas’s mouth quirk up into a small smile as he says, “As you wish.” He raises a hand and waves behind him as he treads out of the kitchen.

When he leaves, Eileen looks at Dean over her coffee mug. She raises a brow. “I thought you said we can’t do that in public spaces.”

Dean swallows dryly. He picks up his own, now cold, coffee and pointedly drains it. When Eileen snickers, Dean groans, “It wasn’t like that.”

 _Sure_ , Eileen signs, amusement all over her face. 

His face feels warm. It’s entirely too early in the morning for this. Dean opens his mouth, closes it again. He repeats, “We’re not — it’s not like that.”

Eileen shrugs. “I said nothing.”

~

The search for Michael is a dead end. The search for Lilith is somehow even harder. They might as well forget about Chuck considering he’s in any one of the thousands of worlds he’s created, and now, destroying. The hunts dry up as well; it’s almost as if the monsters realized that something big is about to go down, and have decided to make themselves scarce. Sam tries to find them cases every few days; there’s a cursed television, a random wood nymph in the bunker that they somehow missed, a couple of vengeful spirits, but mostly it’s quiet. Dean finds that he doesn’t really mind that much. He likes doing regular housework around the bunker, and he likes sleeping in. Everything is such a shit show outside that it kind of feels nice when he can stay at home and relax. So, naturally, just when he’s feeling some level of normalcy, Billie makes her presence known.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean yelps, as soon as Billie teleports into the war room. “We really need to fix the warding in this place.”

Billie just gives him a flat look. “Where’s Jack?”

“Somewhere,” Dean says, waving around the bunker. Billie just stares him down. Dean rolls his eyes and shouts, “Jack! You have a visitor!”

He hears footsteps in the distance and a minute later, Jack runs into the room, Cas right behind him, and Sam not far behind. When Jack spots Billie, an expression that Dean can’t place flickers over his face but it quickly disappears, and Jack says, “Hello.”

“Hey, kid,” Billie says. “I have the next step of your quest.”

Dean exchanges a look with Cas and Sam before turning to Billie. The fleeting illusion of security that he’s been holding on to disappears instantly. He says, “Hold up, can you tell us what the endgame is? We’re sending the kid into these quests with no idea what we’re getting ourselves into.”

Billie tilts her head to the side, studying him closely. “Sorry, I can’t tell you all the pieces of the puzzle yet.” Dean opens his mouth to argue, but she raises a hand, and Dean promptly shuts his mouth. She explains, “The more information you know, the easier it will be for Chuck to figure out what’s going on. Right now, we need to take advantage of the fact that he’s off-world, and make our move.”

Dean is about to argue that _no_. They can’t just sign up to yet another cosmic entity fucking with their lives. The only thing Billie has going for her is that she has rules she sticks to, no matter how fucked they can be at times, and that gives him some comfort.

“Chuck is almost done destroying all the other worlds. Once he’s done with them, it’ll be our turn, so we need to be prepared,” Billie says, darkly. 

Dean feels a chill run down his spine. How many worlds has Chuck destroyed? The countless lives that he killed; the lives that he ruined for no other reason than for his own, twisted amusement. It’s all a game that they were never fair players in. The idea fills Dean with cold, unfiltered rage. Chuck has to die, there are no two ways around it, and they have to do everything they can to make sure that’s the endgame. No matter what it takes.

“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asks, breaking the tension in the room.

“The first quest was meant to strengthen Jack’s body. Step two is more spiritual in nature,” Billie says, slowly. She pauses, eyeing Jack.

When she doesn’t say anything for a while, Cas squints at her. “Can you be more specific?”

Billie shoots Cas a pointed look. “Jack needs to find The Occultum.”

Dean exchanges another look with Sam and Cas, shrugging. Hell if he knows what The Occultum is. That’s not his area of expertise, and he’s not about to start now. Cas matches his shrug, but Sam presses his lips together in concentration before saying, “It’s Latin for hidden. Where do we find it?”

“I don’t know — it’s hidden,” Billie deadpans. It takes all of Dean’s strength not to let out a frustrated groan. “It’s been missing for centuries. It’s sacred, potent, and dangerous.”

“Great,” Dean mutters. “Is it a weapon?”

“It’s not a weapon, per se,” Billie says. “But, it is powerful.”

Four sets of eyes stare at her, waiting for her to continue, but Billie just levels an unimpressed look back at the room. Dean grumbles, “Great, thanks for the help.”

Billie turns to Jack, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready, Jack?”

Jack’s face falls as he averts his gaze to the floor. Dean suddenly feels like this is all a very bad idea, but then Jack lifts his head to look directly at Billie. He says, “I am.”

“Good to hear. We need to be ready and vigilant,” She turns, raising a brow at Dean. “And not be stupid.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but mock salutes.

~

Dean feels twitchy and restless. He hates not knowing what the plan is. Sure, Jack can probably kill Chuck if Billie is to be believed, but there are obviously cosmic consequences to taking out God. There’s Amara, which is it’s own can of cosmic worms; there’s Hell, there’s Heaven losing all sense of being, there’s an infinite number of things that could go wrong. There’s also the fact that because Billie hasn’t been clear on the plan, there’s every chance that they’re leading Jack into undue danger with this mission. Dean knows that they’re all thinking it, but nobody wants to say it. 

It takes two days, Cas begging an untrustworthy Shaman, and Sam reading through every book that the Men of Letters have ever collected for them to even grasp what The Occultum could be, and even then, finding it becomes an entirely separate thing. 

“It’s an artifact,” Cas explains when they’re all sitting around the war room table. “It’s divine in its origin, passing through several hands until it ended up with the faith healer, Anael.” 

Dean sighs. Of course, this isn’t going to be easy. Cas seems to feel the same way because he frowns before he says, “I contacted her and it turns out that she passed it onto the demon, Ruby.”

“ _Ruby?”_ Sam chokes out. Dean snickers. Sam’s eyes widen and then narrow. “That’s a dead-end then. Ruby’s been dead for a decade now.”

Something unreadable flickers over Cas’s face. His voice is slow and deliberate when he says, “There might be a way — it’s dangerous, but I could go to The Empty.”

“Are you _insane_?” Dean asks, voice rising an octave. Cas just shrugs, go figure. Dean shakes his head. “No way. Absolutely not. You just got your strength back, and it’s not even all back.” 

“Dean —” 

“No, Cas,” Dean says, fingers tapping furiously on the table. Sam shoots him a look, probably to tell him to calm down, but Dean ignores him. He meets Cas’s eyes. “We can’t keep playing with chance when it comes to our lives anymore. _Please._ ”

“Dean,” Cas says again, this time softly. “The Empty won’t take me. I —” He hesitates, dropping his gaze to the table. “An angel would need to be completely dead for them to go to The Empty. Jack can drain most of my essence, so I could approach death, but I would still be awake when I enter.” Cas frowns. “I don’t think it would like me very much for it, but it can get the job done.”

Dean shakes his head. “Cas, come on. That’s crazy.”

“I have to try, Dean,” Cas urges. When Dean meets Cas’s gaze, his eyes are pleading. 

Dean sighs. “Okay, fine.”

“Eileen and I can head down to Hell to figure out if Rowena has any information,” Sam offers, picking up his laptop and leaving the room.

Dean just nods absentmindedly. He’s too busy watching Cas settle in on a chair. Jack helps Cas pull out his grace slowly, the vial not even filling up halfway. Within seconds, Cas collapses, his head dropping to his shoulder. Dean gets up and starts pacing the room.

Five minutes pass. 

Ten. 

Fifteen. 

Dean wanders restlessly; he taps his foot in a quick rhythm against the floor and checks the timer. It’s been twenty two minutes; Cas has thirty eight minutes left. He watches Jack drum his fingers on the desk as he looks at his own timer. Dean can feel his hands getting clammy, the sweat dripping down his face.

“I’m going to kill him when he gets back,” Dean mutters, grabbing the decanter filled with whiskey in the corner. He takes a swig straight from the bottle. “I’m going to yell at him first, and _then_ kill him.”

“You’re really scared of losing him, aren’t you?” Jack asks. Dean blinks at his surroundings. He honestly forgot that he’s not alone in the room. Jack stares at him, tilting his head quizzically. “I remember when I was born and Cas died, you were —” Jack freezes and gives Dean an apologetic look.

“I was an ass,” Dean finishes for him. Jack shrugs, but doesn’t correct him, which to be fair is probably because that’s the truth. Dean sighs. “Yeah, well, when your best friend starts dying every other year on you, you tend to have trust issues.”

Jack just eyes him with his brand of curiosity but doesn’t say anything, so Dean goes back to pacing the room. He walks over to Cas’s limp body and places two fingers on the side of his neck, but doesn’t find a pulse. He keeps his breath steady and walks from one end of the room to the other. 

Forty minutes pass.

Forty five.

Dean glares at his watch. He could swear that time is moving slower than ever. When the timer runs down to two minutes, Dean approaches the body. Jack has the vial with Cas’s grace in his hands. Thirty seconds.

“Bring him back,” Dean tells Jack, urgently.

Jack fidgets with the lid of the vial for a minute, and Dean feels like his heart is going to drop out of his body. It takes several long moments before Jack has it opened near Cas’s mouth, the white-blue fog swirling in the air for a second before entering Cas. 

“Come on, buddy,” Dean mutters. 

Cas startles awake with a gasp and blinks up at Dean. “Hi.”

Dean exhales sharply. He feels like he just survived cardiac arrest. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Alright,” Cas says with a shrug. “Considering I have information on The Occultum, I suggest you wait before killing me.”

Dean wonders what kind of sick joke the universe is playing on him that he had to go fall in love with a man that runs to his death every chance he gets. 

~

There are hellhounds because, of course, there are. Jack also eats the goddamn Occultum and disappears into thin air because, again, of course, he does. It’s actually pretty remarkable that their lives are so insane that his twenty-something presenting, three year old, pseudo-son eating a magical sphere while they’re all being attacked by hellhounds isn’t even top ten on the list of most insane things that they’ve had to deal with.

“I can’t believe he ate it,” Dean says, rubbing his face in his hands.

Cas sighs. “Well, he is three years old.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles. Cas places a hand on his shoulder and Dean immediately deflates. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m worried too,” Cas admits. 

Dean is about to say something else, but Sam’s loud shout cuts him off. The hellhounds attacking the door are nearly through. Sam grunts, “Guys, I don’t mean to press, but this would be a really good time for a plan.”

Dean doesn’t have time to worry about a plan because a sphere of light descents onto the church. He exchanges a look with Cas as the sphere drops down. Within seconds, the hellhounds are gone, and the sphere explodes into a burst of light, leaving Jack in its wake.

Jack blinks up at them. “Hello.”

Dean throws his head back, staring at the ceiling, letting out a sigh of relief. He looks back down at Jack, trying to keep his voice from trembling but failing miserably. “I’m gonna kill your ass, too.”

“Sorry,” Jack says, standing up. He looks at his hands, biting his lip in concentration. When he looks back at them, a flash of guilt passes over his face and his eyes fill with tears.

“Jack, are you alright?” Cas asks, cautiously, taking a step forward to place a hand on Jack’s shoulder. Immediately Jack throws an arm around Cas, dropping his head to the crook of Cas’s neck, and sobs loudly. 

Dean immediately feels the wave of acid rising in his stomach. Dean has never been particularly good at handling weeping children. It’s not like he had much experience or positive role models in that sense. Cas eyes Dean over Jack’s shoulder, silently begging Dean to do something. Dean exchanges a look with Sam, silently hoping his brother has an idea, but Sam just shrugs. Dean sighs, taking a step forward, placing an arm around Jack.

“You okay?”

Jack steps back from them, wiping his tears. His mouth is drawn into a thin line. He opens his mouth, but closes it again when he can’t control the rush of emotions getting the better of him. Without saying anything else, he walks towards the entrance of the church. Sam follows him out, and Dean can make out Sam trying to talk to Jack.

Dean tries to follow them out, but Cas pulls him back. Dean hesitates, quirking a brow. Cas says, “His soul is back.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Shit.”

“I’m sure he’s feeling the devastation from all the things that happened,” Cas says sadly.

“He’s going to need some time,” Dean says. He stares off into the distance where Sam is talking to Jack. “We should put Sam on it. He’s the only one that can relate.”

Cas looks towards the door before turning back to Dean. “Dean, as happy as I am that he’s gotten his soul back, Billie’s plan seems —” 

“Dangerous,” Dean finishes. He can’t think about that right now. Right now, all that’s important is making sure that Jack doesn’t lose it. While Sam’s situation was different, Dean still remembers how bad it got for Sam after his soul was returned. The last thing anyone needs is a nephilim spiraling. Dean sighs. “One thing at a time, Cas. We got his soul back. That’s a start.”

~

“Are you sure you don’t want to come along?”

“No, I’m good,” Dean tells Sam, patting him on the shoulder. It’s a ruguru in Nebraska; it’ll be a milk run for Sam and Eileen. “One of us has to be here in case Billie drops in again.”

“Fair enough,” Sam concedes. Eileen strolls into the room with her duffle bag, and Sam’s face immediately lights up. “Hey, ready to go?”

“Ready as ever,” Eileen says. She signs, _I’m driving._

Dean smiles at them. “You kids have fun.”

It’s nice, Dean thinks, that Sam can have this. It’s not like they’re poster children for normalcy, but as far as potential Sam Winchester cursed girlfriends go, Eileen is faring better than most. At least she’s a hunter and a legacy, so it’s not like Sam needs to keep secrets from her. They cook together; they clean together; hell, they watch boring documentaries on Netflix together. It’s the kind of domesticity that normal — well, maybe, not _normal_ normal, but hunter normal people have. 

Dean tried with Lisa and Ben. Sometimes, he even randomly misses them. There was a level of comfort knowing that she knew about the life, and for a moment, he could pretend that he was allowed to have the apple-pie life that everyone else dreams about. And yet, like all things, it just didn’t happen the way it was supposed to. Sometimes Dean thinks that this is just another part of Chuck’s cruel machinations; that he was meant to be alone, to die alone. Other times, Dean realizes that his heart was never really in it with Lisa. Sure, he loved her, in the way he loves dreaming about a beach in Tahiti; it’s abstract, it’s foreign, and it didn’t need to be real. He was allowed to play house with a woman who cared about him, even if that care didn’t extend to love, and fill the loneliness left in his life after the first apocalypse.

Dean finds Cas and Jack in the kitchen, a Connect Four board between them. Jack drops a yellow disc into the center column of the board. Cas huffs out a breath, staring at the board in complete concentration. Dean smirks, tip-toeing over to the table.

“Hey, guys,” Dean says loudly. Cas immediately flinches, dropping his red discs onto the table.

Cas turns around and glares at Dean. “Dean.”

“Sorry,” Dean apologizes, but he’s not actually sorry and Cas knows it. Cas rolls his eyes, picks the discs up, and puts them into a neat little pile. Dean drops down next to Cas at the table. “How’s it going?”

“I won seven games in a row,” Jack chimes, looking incredibly proud of himself. 

“Did you really?” Dean asks, raising a brow at Cas. He laughs. “Man, you’re terrible at this.”

“I am,” Cas agrees, but he’s smiling softly at Jack. Cas tilts his head towards Jack. “Jack, on the other hand, could be a world champion.”

“I beat Sam as well,” Jack points out. Dean bites back a laugh. Jack gives him a shit-eating, absolutely top-level, smug grin. “I bet I can beat you too.”

“I’m sure you can,” Dean agrees; it’s true as well because he has no intention of beating Jack, just like Cas and Sam don’t either. He shoves Cas’s shoulder lightly so that Cas gets up, allowing Dean to swap places with him. He takes the red chips and starts playing.

To be fair, Jack is very clever, but Dean lets him win the first game, but then he wins the second one to keep it interesting but loses the third, allowing Jack to win the best of three. He makes a show of being a sore loser, which gets a laugh out of Jack. Dean loves this; he loves the way Jack’s eyes light up whenever he wins random board games and the way Cas laughs at Dean’s terrible shit talking. Something tugs in Dean when he looks between Cas and Jack. They’re his family, in every way. They’re the people he gets to cook dinners for and have game nights with. It’s so painfully normal that Dean just lets himself _want_.

“You let him win,” Cas accuses later when Jack leaves the kitchen. 

Dean raises a brow. He takes out two beers, passing one over to Cas. “And you didn’t?”

“Of course I did,” Cas says. He screws the cap off the beer bottle. “It upsets him when he loses.”

“Here’s to good parenting,” Dean says, tilting his bottle towards Cas who clinks his. Dean considers it for a moment before amending, “Here’s to _your_ good parenting.”

“I think you’re a good father, Dean,” Cas promises. He smiles at Dean, small and sweet in the way he does when he can’t seem to understand why Dean is so self-deprecating. He repeats, “You’ve been a good father to Jack.”

“I tried to kill him,” Dean immediately shoots back, ignoring the flutter in his chest. “Several times, actually.”

Cas stares at him, tilting his head to the side. He places a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We’ve all tried to kill each other at some point.”

Dean has to concede that’s true, but he still looks away from Cas, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Cas.”

“You make him happy,” Cas points out, angling his head so that he’s looking into Dean’s eyes again. “He looks up to you. He wants to be you. There have been times when you’ve been able to approach him far better than I’ve been able to.”

“I could be better though,” Dean admits.

“Which already makes you better than our own fathers,” Cas says. “They knew they should have been better, but chose not to. At least, you’re trying.”

“Thank you,” Dean says quietly. He reaches a hand out to run his fingers over the lapel of Cas’s trench coat because he can and because Cas lets him. 

Cas places his beer bottle down on the counter and takes a small step forward so that he’s in Dean’s space. He draws his hand down from Dean’s shoulder, over the underside of his wrist, and when Dean turns to look at him, Cas slides his fingers up Dean’s wrist. Dean inhales slowly, but doesn’t look away, instinctively pulling Cas closer. Dean catches Cas’s eye and licks his lips. Cas looks up at him, dropping his hand. Dean’s breath hitches.

“Cas, what are we doing here?” Dean asks, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m not the only one that’s thinking —” Dean hesitates, feels his face warm. “I’m not the only one that’s feeling this, right?”

Cas freezes, and everything suddenly goes still. Dean can see the regret crossing over Cas’s face, so painfully obvious that Dean wishes that he could take it back, but it’s too late. Cas’s eyes widen and he tilts his head away from Dean, and Dean feels like a complete idiot because of course Cas doesn’t feel the same way. As human as he is, Cas is still an Angel, capital A, of the fucking Lord, and Dean is as human as human can be. Cas has seen him do things that would have shamed the devil himself, so of course, Dean never had a chance. Dean opens his mouth to say something else — anything else, but closes it when there’s nothing else he can say. 

It’s Cas who breaks the ice. His voice quivers slightly when he says, “Dean, I’m sorry.”

Well, there it is, the irrevocable rejection. 

“Right.” Dean looks away, takes a step back from Cas, his breath shaking out of him. “Right, of course.” Dean shakes his head, feels his chest constrict. He barks out a strained laugh. “Christ, I’m sorry. I never should have said anything. Just — just forget it, okay?”

“Dean —”

Cas reaches out again, touches his elbow, but Dean turns around and steps out of his reach. Dean lets out another shaky breath and walks out of the room. 

~

Dean curls up on his side and drapes his throw blanket over his lower torso, unperturbed by the state of the world. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, staring up at the ceiling, but he knows it’s been a day, maybe longer. There’s quiet whispering outside his door, but Dean doesn’t move. He tugs his blanket more tightly around himself. 

_This isn’t you_ , he tells himself over and over again because it’s not him; he’s not a fifteen year old girl, moping around his room waiting for the guy he likes to call him back — except, Dean thinks, he’s spent so many nights like this over the years, waiting for Cas to respond to his messages or his prayers. It’s not that Cas didn’t care because Cas does, and Dean knows that; Cas gave up his entire way of existence to follow Dean into every apocalypse thrown their way, but just because Cas cares about him doesn’t mean that it’s the same. 

“Dean?”

It’s Eileen. Dean just curls into himself some more.

“I’m coming in.”

Eileen cautiously pokes her head through the door; the light from the hallway is too bright and it instantly hurts Dean’s eyes, but then Eileen turns the lights in his room on, and Dean feels his head split from the sensory change. She steps fully into the room, laptop in hand.

“Did Sam put you up to this?” Dean grumbles as he rearranges his blanket so that he can sit up.

“Yes,” Eileen confirms. “He’s taking care of Castiel.”

 _Huh, guess he feels bad,_ Dean thinks. To Eileen, he says, “I’m fine.”

“I know,” she replies nonchalantly, even if it’s obvious to both of them that it’s a lie. She opens her laptop. “I thought you might want to watch Scooby-Doo.”

Dean blinks, smiling despite himself. “I knew I liked you.”

It’s a distraction tactic, but Dean doesn’t complain. Sam probably sent Eileen to comfort him because Sam’s go-to comfort tactic is to _talk_ about it, and right now, Dean would rather jump off a cliff than talk about how he practically told Cas that he loved him, and Cas rejected him without a second thought. Some things are just off-limits, even to Sam. 

But, of course, Eileen is Sam’s girlfriend, and she’s bound to pick some things up from him. She waits a lot longer than Dean thought she would, but halfway through their fourth episode together, Eileen lets out a sigh.

“Just ask me,” Dean tells her, just itching to get it over with.

 _Okay,_ Eileen signs. She smiles gently as she looks over his face. “What happened?”

Dean debates lying; he could tell her that he got into a fight with Cas over something stupid, but it’s no big deal and they’ll fix it. It’s a believable lie too because if there’s one thing that’s constant in their lives, it’s that he gets into stupid fights with Cas over nothing in particular all the time. He could lie, but the feelings crowding his chest feel like a bomb ready to explode at any moment.

“I thought I had — something with Cas, but I was wrong,” Dean says hesitantly. He runs a hand over his face. This is _stupid_. He groans, “I feel like a teenager right now.”

Eileen makes a sympathetic noise. “You love him.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, realizing he doesn’t want to lie about that. “But he — well, I just read him wrong, you know?” Eileen just looks at him with such pity that Dean feels his face flush. He looks away from her and clears his throat. “It’s okay — I’m fine, really. You win some, you lose some, right? He’s still the best goddamn friend I’ve ever had.”

Eileen looks at him for a long time before she smiles. She signs along as she says, “Well, there’s always Daphne — or Fred, if you’d rather.” 

Dean actually laughs at that, and Eileen presses play on the next episode.

~

Somehow the universe doesn’t stop just because Dean wants to drown an entire bottle of vodka, watch _The Lost Boys_ for the third time in a week, and ignore every one of his emotions. No, it’s almost like it knows Dean is going through a crisis, and decides that this is the best time for all the monsters to come out and wreak havoc. There’s a vampire nest in Burkittsville; there are seven missing children in Shreveport, and a Norse demigod in Billerica, and they’re all fucking annoying.

Sam suggests that they split up. Cas takes Jack to figure out the missing children situation, Sam goes with Eileen to sort out the demigod, and Dean — well, if there’s one thing Dean still knows about his life, it’s that he’s pretty damn good at killing vampires. 

Dean takes the long way back, driving an extra two hours, just so he doesn’t have to run into anyone in the bunker, but of course, the universe is out to get him. He makes it back just in time to find Sam pouring over lore books in the war room. Sam shoots him a wary smile, like Dean is made of glass, and that just makes Dean want to throw a punch. He’s fine, Jesus Christ. Besides, they’re all professionals.

“Hey,” Dean says, faltering, and he can physically see Sam exhaling. Dean rolls his eyes. “Dude, I’m fine. I’ve been through a lot worse than —”

He freezes at the sound of the bunker door opening and shutting behind him. He looks up to see Cas and Jack standing on the balcony. Jack raises a hand in greeting before he marches down the stairs, quickly turning down the hallway towards his room, not saying a word to the room. There’s something about Jack’s expression that feels dark and worrisome, but Dean literally can’t bring himself to look away from Cas. 

At least, not until Sam clears his throat.

Dean turns around and looks at Sam, knowing full well that whatever his face is doing right now, it’s comical. There’s a small smile on Sam’s face as he tilts his chin towards Cas, who walks down the stairs. “How’d it go?”

“Uh, fine,” Cas says, voice strained. He takes off his trench coat and suit jacket and drops them on the chair. He leans against the desk and crosses his arms across his chest. He meets Dean’s eyes when he says, “The usual. We killed the monster and saved the girl.”

Dean swallows hard, looking away from Cas. “Good — uh, great. Great job.” 

He sounds like a complete moron and everyone in the room knows it. Dean wonders how rude it would be if he just ran out right now and shut himself in his room. Sure, that would make everything infinitely more insufferable with Cas, but at least Dean can get away from the here and now. When he looks at Cas again, his mouth parts open and he looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t get a chance to because Jack comes back out of his room.

“There’s something you need to know,” Jack says quietly. He looks like a terrified, wounded animal with the way he scans the room, eyes flickering at everything except the actual people in the room.

Dean looks over at Cas who shrugs. Dean frowns, eyeing Jack carefully. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know.”

Cas tilts his head and narrows his eyes at Jack. “Are you hurt?”

Jack doesn’t say anything and, instead, bites his lower lip. He still doesn’t look at anyone. Dean exchanges another silent look with Cas whose eyes flicker with worry. Dean tries again. “Is someone else hurt?”

“No!” Jack practically shouts his reply, eyes widening in horror. He shakes his head. “Nobody else is hurt.”

At that moment, Dean really regrets not buying parenting books because Jack stuffs his hands into his pocket, pointedly looks down at the ground, and says nothing for a long time. Dean feels a pang of worry rush through him, his stomach sinking. He looks at Sam and hopes that his brother would have an answer because he’s always been better at this than Dean.

Sam shrugs in response. Dean stares at him with wide eyes and hopes that his silent message of _say something_ translates over to Sam.

“Jack,” Sam says slowly. Jack doesn’t look up. “You can tell us anything.”

“That’s right,” Cas tells him gently. “Whatever it is, we won’t get mad. We’re here for you.”

Jack is silent for a long time, still staring at the ground. When he finally looks up, there’s the first hint of tears forming in his eyes. Dean takes a step forward to comfort him but hesitates when Jack wipes the tears away with the back of his hands. It takes a moment but he schools his face into steady determination. He takes a sharp breath and looks at them. 

“I’m going to die,” Jack tells them quietly. There’s a slight tremble to his voice when he continues, “The last quest for Billie’s plan will turn me into a bomb, and when the time comes, it will take Chuck out — and, it will kill me as well.”

There isn’t a word to describe the chill that runs down Dean’s body — he almost physically rears back in shock and fear but catches himself before he does. Cas immediately pushes himself off the table and stands in front of Jack. Dean reaches a hand out to pull Cas back.

“ _What?_ ” Cas bites out. If he didn’t know Cas better, Dean would assume he’s angry; but, he does know Cas, and he knows the desperation. 

“I have to do this, Cas,” Jack says, tilting his chin up as he looks at Cas with steely determination. “Please don’t try and stop me.”

“No,” Cas says, shaking his head furiously. Dean lets out a silent tremble and his throat constricts. He tightens his hold on Cas’s elbow and Cas shakes his head again, his eyes filling with tears this time. To Jack, he says, “I watched you die once and I’m not going to do it again.”

“It’s not your choice,” Jack says, keeping his voice level. Cas exhales and his lips tremble. 

“Jack, we can find another way,” Sam says when Cas’s emotions get the better of him.

“Sam, this is the only way,” Jack argues, voice rising an octave. “Billie read Chuck’s death book, and she knows that this is the only way.”

“Well, she’s been wrong before,” Sam shoots back.

Dean feels like the ground is going to cave in under him at any moment; he can’t believe that this is real, and not something Chuck dropped on their plate to break their will some more. All the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat, and he feels himself choking on them. When he meets Cas’s eyes, there’s silent despair there, an unspoken plea for Dean to say something, to talk Jack out of this. Dean lets out a breath. “Jack —”

He hesitates. Jack meets his eyes with the kind of resolution that Dean has seen so many times over the years, most often in the mirror. It’s a look of a boy who thinks that the greater good is worth anything, even his life.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Jack cuts Dean off. 

Dean immediately stares at Cas, at a loss for words. Cas’s face contorts in anger and he pulls his arm away from Dean. He gives Jack one last look before he storms out of the room. Dean watches the muscles in Jack’s face clench before Jack walks out of the room, not looking at them. Dean clenches his fist at his sides and lets out an explosive sigh, the rage churning inside him.

“Son of a bitch,” he shouts, slamming his hand down on the table. Sam immediately flinches. “Every time we think we’re winning this fucking war, something always happens.”

“Dean,” Sam starts. When Dean looks at him, Sam gives him a withering look. “You need to stop Jack from doing this.”

“You saw him, Sam,” Dean argues, his voice becoming increasingly frenzied. “There’s no stopping him when he gets like that.”

Sam fixes him a look and Dean knows Sam is right. Dean sighs. “Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to him.”

Sam is silent for a long time as he stares at Dean. Eventually, he says, “You should talk to Cas as well.”

Dean throws his arms up in frustration. “Why do I have to talk to everyone?”

Sam just stares him down and Dean lets out a frustrated groan. 

“Right, yeah,” Dean agrees begrudgingly. “One normal fucking day, that’s all I ask.”

~

Dean decides to start with Jack.

When Dean knocks on the door, there’s no reply on the other end; Dean waits a moment before turning the handle to find Jack sitting cross-legged on his bed as he stares at the wall, completely zoned out. “Jack.”

Jack’s eyes immediately snap away from the wall towards Dean. When he doesn’t say anything, Dean steps inside the room gingerly, closing the door behind him. 

“We need to talk about it, you know,” Dean says patiently. 

Jack looks at him and his mouth thins into a grim line. He asks, “Is Castiel mad at me?”

“No,” Dean says immediately as he settles on the edge of the mattress. “Nobody is mad at you.”

Jack silently looks at his hand, twisting his fingers together. Something coils in Dean’s gut at the sight — Jack is so similar to him sometimes that it’s painful. When Jack looks up, he can’t hide the sadness in his eyes. “Dean, you know that this is the right thing to do. You know that Chuck has to die.”

“Maybe,” Dean concedes because there’s very little he wants in this world more than Chuck dead. When Jack opens his mouth to say something else, Dean raises a finger. “But, I don’t like it and neither do Cas and Sam.”

Jack glares at him. “ _You_ would do it.”

Dean freezes at that. Jack raises a brow at him, challenging him to deny it, but Dean can’t. Of course, he would do it. He would lay down his own life in a heartbeat if it means that they can get Chuck. It’s funny, Dean thinks, how easily they all run towards their own deaths, but can’t accept it if anyone else makes that choice. 

When Jack stares at him expectantly, Dean sighs. “You’re right, I would do it.” Jack tilts his head in quiet triumph and Dean shakes his head. “But, I’m not exactly a role model, Jack.”

“That’s not true,” Jack immediately shoots back. 

Dean huffs out a low laugh. He softens when he looks at Jack who is all fiery determination. He says, “I know you want to help and you think that this is the only way, but running to your death isn’t exactly the best idea out there.” 

“Dean —”

“As much as I hate it, you have the freedom to make your own choices,” Dean says softly, even if that’s technically not true. He can’t keep his voice from trembling when he says, “But, we can’t lose you again. I know I can’t force you to back down, but I’m begging you to consider what it would do to us — _Cas_ would be devastated.”

Jack’s eyes snap up and he looks at Dean. 

Dean scratches the back of his neck. “Trust me, there’s nothing I want more than Chuck meeting his end, but just give us some time to find another way.”

Jack bites his bottom lip, looking away from Dean. “What if you can’t find another way?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Dean tells him, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder. Dean smiles encouragingly at Jack. “You didn’t give up on me when I had Michael trapped in my head, so give us a chance.”

Jack is silent for what feels like an eternity before he exhales. He looks at Dean when he says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dean repeats. He can work with okay.

Dean nods, squeezing the hand on Jack’s shoulder before he gets up off the bed. He’s halfway to the door when Jack says, “Dean?”

Dean turns around. Jack gives him a pointed look. “You need to promise me that if you can’t find a way, you’ll let me do this, no matter what Cas says.”

Dean’s chest tightens. Jack stares at him, waiting for a confirmation or rejection, but Dean can’t say anything. Instead, he takes a deep breath and turns to walk out of the room. At that moment, Dean realizes how hard it must have been for Cas and Sam over the years. 

~

Dean hesitates outside Cas’s room; he’s been avoiding Cas for days, and now that he needs to face him, Dean feels lightheaded and he just wants to walk back to his room and curl up in his blankets until a new, hopefully, better day. But, he saw the devastation on Cas’s face and Cas has been with him through every tragedy in his life for so long that Dean can suck up his pathetic, midlife _crush_ — of all things — to talk to Cas about their kid walking into a suicide mission.

He knocks and waits.

“Come in,” Cas says, voice hoarse.

When he opens the door, Cas is at his desk, staring down at a book. He doesn’t look up when Dean walks in; Dean twitches his fingers, looks around, not knowing what to do now that he’s actually here. He takes a step towards the bed and sits down. He waits for a moment and hopes that Cas takes pity on him and says something, but when he doesn’t, Dean clears his throat. “I talked to him.”

This gets Cas to look up at him. His voice is quiet when he says, “Is he okay?”

Dean shrugs. “If you mean, is he emotionally fine? Probably not, but I told him to give us time to figure this out.”

“And he agreed to it?” Cas confirms. Dean nods. Cas exhales and the tension leaves his face immediately. “Thank you, Dean.”

When Cas looks at him, Dean can feel the warmth and appreciation radiating off him and Dean’s heart clinches. He just wishes — no, he can’t go there, not now. Instead, he tries smiling, even if he knows that Cas can see right through it. “He's a lot more like me than I realized.”

“Of course,” Cas says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. “I told you that he looks up to you and sometimes, he picks up your frustrating desire to run head first into every fight and not let us help.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says. He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you never gave up on me.”

Cas studies him carefully and Dean suddenly worries that he made things weird again. Cas looks away from him and hunches towards the desk. Weakly, he says, “Dean, I’m afraid that I haven’t been honest with you.”

Cas looks like he’s in a silent debate with himself. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before turning to face Dean. When their eyes meet, Dean feels like every bit of him is on fire with the level of intensity and regret in Cas’s eyes. He doesn’t say anything for a long time; time feels like it’s moving backward, and Dean feels the tension and anxiety building around him.

“When Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him,” Cas finally says. 

Dean stops breathing. “You did _what_?”

“In exchange for Jack’s soul, I traded my life,” Cas explains quietly, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I couldn’t handle losing him and it was the only way. I don’t regret it for a minute.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say.

“I would have done the same thing,” Dean finally manages, even if his insides feel like they’re betraying him at every second. Every time, Dean thinks, every fucking time. He’s lost Cas so many times that it almost feels like it’s his destiny to grieve him forever. He rasps, “How long do you have?”

Cas breathes in and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there’s tears pooling in the blue expanses of his eyes. “It’s not so much when as much as it’s how — the deal was that The Empty would be summoned to take me when I experienced a moment of true happiness.”

Dean swallows, but doesn’t say anything. Cas gets up from the chair to sit down next to him on the bed, close enough that their shoulders touch. Cas blinks at him, not even trying to keep his tears at bay. Dean thinks, suddenly, that this is the first time he’s seen Cas cry. Really, truly cry.

“That day in the kitchen when you asked me if you were the only one that felt something between us, I told you that I was sorry,” Cas says hesitantly. Dean closes his eyes and feels the wetness on his face. He only opens his eyes again because he feels Cas’s hand reaching out to his as he laces their fingers together. “I believe I made you feel like I didn’t feel the same way, but that’s not true. I — I love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you, even if I didn’t realize it.”

There’s a very obvious _but_ that hangs in the air between them.

“But this,” Dean says, gesturing between them. “This can’t happen.”

It’s unbelievable, really, how there’s always a new obstacle. Every time that they take two steps forward, there’s a cosmic force pulling them apart. Dean feels the bitterness creep through him; they never had a chance. Through purgatory and death, through heaven and hell, through every goddamn apocalypse thrown their way, they tried and tried and tried. Now, there’s _this._

“God,” Dean says, barking out a bitter laugh. Cas is still holding his hand, tracing over his knuckles. “We’re like some new age Romeo and Juliet.”

Cas squints at him. “I’m not quite sure that we’re that similar to a pair of reckless, Italian teenagers.”

That gets a smile out of Dean, even if he still feels like he wants to burn the whole world down and start over. They sit in silence for what feels like hours, and it very might be. Dean doesn’t know what to feel anymore. _Cas loves me,_ he thinks because that’s an incredible feeling, that all the bullshit that he’s put Cas through over the years hasn't scared him away. Cas saw all the anger and rage and decided that he still loves Dean. 

“I’m getting you out of this deal if it’s the last thing I do,” Dean says suddenly, his voice far stronger than it had any right to be.

Cas frowns. “Dean, you _can’t_. Nothing human can exist in The Empty and it can’t come to Earth unless it’s summoned.”

“Yeah, well, you know me. You’re not dying on me again, and if I have to take on The Empty myself, it’s what I’ll do,” Dean says. He tries smiling at Cas, but he knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. Cas looks at Dean’s face for a long time, holding his gaze until he finally turns away, his mouth curving slightly.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says finally. 

~

Dean tears up the archives, pulling books and film tapes out, to find anything he can on The Empty. He carries them carefully to his bedroom, spreading them out. He takes out the bottle of whiskey that he keeps hidden under his bed, taking a swig directly from it, and dives in. 

It’s not surprising that the Men of Letters couldn’t compile information about The Empty considering that the only beings to enter it are dead. Cas knows more about it than literally anyone else, and yet, even Cas doesn’t know much. Dean flips through countless manuscripts, but everything turns up a dead end. Every religion on Earth has some form of void before creation — but there are no notes, no spells, no solutions, nothing that can help Dean. He doesn’t know how many hours, maybe even days, he spends on it, and yet, he makes no progress.

Dean hisses a breath and tries to focus, the doubt beginning to creep in his mind. He wonders how his life ended up here. Long gone are the days when his biggest worry was whether he can kill a demon or not. Rage flows through him like lava; this is all Chuck’s fault, it has to be. Chuck designed the universe; he designed the game that they’re all playing. It’s his fucking fault that Jack might die; that Cas will be taken by The Empty. Dean feels lost in the vortex of anger swirling in him, and he slams the books off his bed, the papers flying in every direction.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Dean?”

Dean turns towards his door to find Sam standing in the hallway, his eyes darting between Dean, the whiskey bottle, and the books. Dean struggles to control the sickening wave of fear rising through him. _They’re going to die and I can’t save them_ , he thinks. Sam is still staring at him so Dean chokes out, “I’m fine.”

Sam wordlessly steps into his room, shuts the door behind him, and pulls up a chair. The lines of stress form on his forehead as he frowns. “Explain.”

So, Dean does. With his voice barely keeping it together and his hands trembling, Dean tells Sam about it all; he tells him about The Empty deal, about Cas, about the fact that he feels like his whole world is about to explode under him and how it’s all Chuck’s fault, but they can’t kill Chuck because that means Jack dies, and he’s back at square one. He chokes out his feelings, one by one, because he’s been piling them up for years and now, it’s like the floodgates open and everything rushes out at once. He doesn’t know when Sam moves to the bed, but he does, and Dean feels strong arms pulling him into a hug.

“Dean, it’s okay.”

Dean feels the wetness on his face as he tucks up against Sam. He’s shaking and he can’t find the words anymore. He thinks he sobbed out something along the lines of _it’s so fucking unfair_ because Sam runs a circle between Dean’s shoulders and tells him that he knows it’s not fair. This goes against everything Dean knows; he knows he shouldn’t cry in front of Sam, he’s not allowed to cry in front of Sam, not really anyways, and definitely not like this. He’s stronger than this, or he should be, but — but, he’s not. He’s just a man and he just wants some goddamn peace and a _life_. 

“We’ll find a way, Dean,” Sam tells him when they finally break apart and Dean controls his emotions to an extent. “We always do.

Dean’s temper immediately ignites like a fuse. “No, we _don’t,_ Sam. We never fucking do! Every time we think we solve one problem Chuck and the universe throw at us, we open ourselves up to another problem and — and, it’s never us who suffers because Chuck wants us to kill each other.” Dean feels a tremble rising through him again. “It’s the people who we love and who love us that always die.” He hesitates before he chokes, “It’s always Cas who dies and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t save him.”

Sam is quiet for a very long time. He sighs heavily, and it sounds resigned. Quietly, he says, “You can’t give up, Dean.”

“I’m not giving up, Sam,” Dean says quickly because he’s not. Far from it. “I just don’t know what I’ll do with myself when the inevitable happens.”

His statement hangs in the air and he knows Sam feels it too. He doesn’t say anything though because there isn’t much to say. Instead, Sam reaches over to the side table and pours two glasses of whiskey. He quietly hands Dean his glass and they drink in silence.

~

Dean feels himself drifting from focus as he looks through archaic versions of the Bible to figure out information about The Empty. He’s halfway through rereading the same page he’s been trying to read for an hour when Cas walks into the war room.

Dean tilts his head. “Hey.”

“I think I have arthritis,” Cas grumbles, collapsing onto the chair across from. He squints his eyes in concentration. “Potentially sciatica as well.”

“Sucks to be you, old man,” Dean says, shooting Cas a grin. Cas pouts, glaring at him. Dean bites the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. He asks, “How’d the case go?”

“It wasn’t our kind of case, but we managed,” Cas says with a wave. Dean is about to ask how Jack handled the case without using his powers when he spots Cas trying to read his book upside down. Dean tilts it so that Cas can read it easier. Cas frowns, eyeing Dean. “Any luck?”

“I think I’m getting somewhere,” Dean lies and he knows that Cas knows that it’s a lie, but Cas doesn’t call him out on it. Dean clears his throat and asks, “How’d Jack do?”

“He’s handling it fine, but —”

“Hello, boys.”

Billie’s voice cuts Cas off and instantly, Cas is on his feet drawing his angel blade, wincing at the sudden movement. Dean shoots up to his feet, offering support to Cas, before turning to Billie, drawing his gun.

Billie raises a brow at them. “This wasn’t the welcome I was expecting.”

“Yeah, well, it might have something to do with you sending Jack to his death,” Cas bites out.

Billie studies them both closely; she places her scythe down and crosses her arms across her chest. Her voice is calm when she says, “You want to kill _God_ , what did you think was going to happen? You needed a soul bomb to take out Amara, and that was when she was significantly weakened by your band of merry misfits. Chuck, even with a magic bullet wound, is still devouring worlds at an alarming pace. This is the only way.”

“We don’t care,” Dean says, his temper flaring. “Either find another way or we’re out.”

Cas stares at him with wide eyes. Dean blinks, surprising himself at how much he means that, but he does. Chuck’s death is everything; hell, it’s more than everything, but despite everything, he can’t bring himself to turn Jack into a bomb. It might be selfish, but Dean feels like he earned the right to be a bit selfish.

“This might be hard to believe, but I’ve grown fond of the boy as well,” Billie says, somewhat sharply, glancing between the two of them. “Believe me when I say that if there was another way, I would have pursued it, but God’s death book is very clear on what his eventual demise is.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Dean shouts, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “You told me that locking myself up in a Ma’lak Box was the only way to stop Michael, but turns out, that wasn’t true. There has to be another way.”

“Dean —” Billie starts.

“You’re _Death_ ,” Cas argues, cutting her off, his eyes flaring dangerously. “You’re the only one who can reap God.” Cas pauses to look at Billie. The anger in his face dissipates and it’s replaced by a look of pure desperation. “You know that there’s another way. It might be harder, it might be more dangerous, but it exists, and we’re begging you to consider it.”

Billie doesn’t respond; she frowns, looking away from them, her face softening just a fraction. 

“Please, Billie. Don’t make us lose him again,” Dean begs. He doesn’t have an ultimatum, he doesn’t even have the energy to fight her. He barely has the energy to fight Chuck and that’s out of sheer adrenaline and nearly four decades of increasing PTSD. When Billie doesn’t say anything, Dean sighs. “We’ll give you whatever you want, just — just, please. Please find us another way.”

Billie doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Dean thinks she might teleport out, but she doesn’t. Instead, she looks at them and nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Cas echoes.

Billie rolls her eyes. “Yes, Castiel, okay. I will reach out to my contacts and figure out an alternate path, but I do have to warn you that whatever it is could be dangerous. With the original plan, Jack’s life is the only life that would be at risk, but there’s every chance that we could be messing with some intense magic. You have to be prepared.”

Dean doesn’t hesitate when he says, “We are.”

“Then, okay,” Billie says with a nod. “I’ll contact you when I have information.”

She picks up her scythe again and is about to teleport out of the bunker when Dean says, “Wait.” Billie raises a brow at him. Dean clears his throat and exchanges a look with Cas before looking at Billie. “Do you know about Cas’s deal with The Empty?”

Billie stares at Cas with sharp eyes. “Yes, I do. It was a stupid move, if you ask me.”

“Well, we didn’t,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “Do you know if we can get him out of it?”

Cas averts his gaze away, clearly uneasy at the whole situation, but Dean doesn’t really care. He’ll do whatever it takes. When he looks at Billie, her face is soft. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t. The Empty is different. It is vast, terrifying, and exists out of normal governance. I don’t even think God has power over it.”

“But you were able to pull Jack out,” Cas points out.

“I made a deal. In return for complete silence, I would get Jack,” Billie explains. “The Empty has as much a reason to see God fall as the rest of us.”

Cas frowns. “Jack was able to pull me out.”

Billie shrugs. “I suppose Jack can spring you once it takes you, but obviously that would require you to summon it in the first place and I’m guessing that he —” Billie tilts her head towards Dean. “He doesn’t want you to do that.” 

Dean shrugs when Cas looks at him, not even bothering to deny that. Billie continues, “I’m also not sure that The Empty would be keen on giving up the only being who has ever escaped for a second time.”

Dean sighs. “So, we’re screwed.”

“Play stupid games and win stupid prizes,” Billie says with a shrug. “All of you mess with the rules of the living and the dead so often that you’ve pissed off pretty much every cosmic entity out there.”

Dean glares. “Alright, cut us some slack. Maybe if Chuck didn’t keep screwing with our lives, we’d actually stay dead for once.”

“Well, that’s as much a reason as any for me to want Chuck dead,” Billie says with a hint of a smile. “Maybe after this is all over, you boys will make my life a lot easier.” She pauses and looks at them. “I can’t make any promises, but I will reach out to you if there is an alternate way, but if there isn’t —”

“Yeah, we know,” Dean says with a sigh. “Jack.”

“Jack,” Billie echoes solemnly before she teleports out of the bunker.

Dean turns to Cas. He looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes and a slight line of tension in his jaw. Dean asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. The case just took a bit out of me and I need rest,” Cas says, not quite looking at Dean. Without another word, he walks out of the room.

Dean stares after him, his stomach twisting miserably. He hopes against hope that Billie can find something — if anyone can, it’s probably her, but he knows that they’re not anywhere closer to solving this than they were before. There’s still a chance that Jack could die and there’s next to no hope that they can get Cas out of his deal. Dean grabs the whiskey bottle on the table and drinks. 

~

Dean feels like he’s floating on air when he sees Jack kick a soccer ball, dribbling past two players before he puts the ball in the top corner of the net. He turns towards Dean, waving in pure joy. Dean raises his hand to wave back when Jack’s eyes glow bright yellow, the skin on his face cracking.

A bright light explodes all around him, and Dean finds himself in a void of emptiness.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas’s voice says from somewhere. 

Dean looks around to place it, but he can’t find Cas anywhere. Dean tries shouting, but it comes out as a muffled sound that gets lost in the void. All the sensations filter out and Dean feels like he’s running on air and going nowhere.

_“Dean.”_

Dean jolts awake and feels his pulse racing wildly in his veins, a hand pushing him back down on his bed. He looks up to see Cas standing over his bed, his brows pinching together in worry. Dean feels his breath become ragged in his throat, and he just stares at Cas. 

“I’m here,” Cas says quietly. The hand on Dean’s chest pushes him back down and Dean goes willingly, shifting so that there’s space for Cas under the sheets. Cas settles down next to him and props himself up on one arm so that he’s looking down at Dean. “I tried to make your nightmares disappear, but unfortunately, my powers aren’t what they were, and I could only manage to pull you out.”

Dean just nods, unsure of his own voice. The burst of light and the black void flash in his mind, and Dean swallows hard. Desperation etches its way through Dean. _I can’t save them. I can’t save Cas._ When he meets Cas’s eyes, Dean can tell that Cas is worried. 

“I’m fine, Cas.”

“No, you aren’t,” Cas says immediately. He reaches a hand out to cup Dean’s face

Dean sighs, leaning into the touch. He admits, “No, I’m not.” He hesitates. “Can you stay?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas says, slipping under the sheets.

Dean feels the heat off Cas’s body, feels the way Cas shifts to make himself comfortable. Dean stares up at the ceiling, counting backward from a hundred to one; he tries to make sense of his dreams, of Jack turning into a bomb on a soccer pitch — god, the normalcy of that; Cas’s voice ringing out in a black, empty void but Dean can’t find him no matter how hard he tries. His subconscious has a sick sense of humor. Dean lies awake, listening to Cas’s even breathing.

“I don’t think I can save you, Cas,” Dean says quietly into the emptiness of the room.

There’s no response for a long time and Dean figures Cas is asleep, but then Cas turns on his side so that he curls up against Dean, half on top of him. When Cas blinks at him, the blue irises of his eyes glimmer in the dark. Dean twists so that he has one arm around Cas’s shoulders. In any other universe, in any other situation, this would be _it_ for Dean. He would be the happiest man in the world if all he needs to do for the rest of his life is curl up in bed with Cas and the world was fine. Except, the world isn’t fine and he can’t have Cas, not really anyways.

Cas stares at him for a moment before he says, “It’s not your job to save me, Dean. When I made the deal with The Empty, I had the intention of going then and there, but it wants me to be tortured under the weight of my unhappiness. I truly appreciate you trying, but I won’t think any less of you if you can’t.”

Dean pulls Cas closer so that his face is tucked against Dean’s chest. “What do you think will make you happy enough for it to be summoned?”

“I don’t know,” Cas says softly. “You, probably —” Dean smiles despite himself. “But, I suppose saving Jack and defeating Chuck would make me feel content enough. I’d like to know that you and Sam will be okay and that Jack has a home where he’s safe.”

“That’s very selfless,” Dean says, thinking, not for the first time, that Cas is entirely too good for him.

Cas smiles against his chest. “I did learn that from you.”

Dean smiles instinctively because Cas says things sometimes that are so effortless, kind, and thoughtful, and even if Dean doesn’t want to believe it, he has to because Cas says it with such conviction. He is selfish, Dean thinks, because he wants to save Cas from The Empty for Cas’s sake, but he also wants to save him because he can’t imagine a world where he’s okay, let alone happy, without Cas. 

“How is The Empty?” Dean asks when there’s a lull in the conversation. He knows Cas is still awake.

Cas lets out a soft, wet breath against his chest, pulling a loose string on Dean’s t-shirt. “It’s dark and disconcertingly quiet. Angels and demons sleep for an eternity, but it’s not a peaceful sleep. They’re haunted by the memories of their greatest regrets —” Cas hesitates; he blinks up at Dean. “I think that’s the part that worries me the most. The regrets I have — well, I suppose I can’t say they would kill me because I would be dead already, but it would feel like eternal torture.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. Instantly, he remembers Hell and how the physical pain was bad, but it’s the emotional torture that tormented him the most. Their lives are just one regret after another. He asks, “I can understand demons dreaming about their regrets, but what about the normal angels? You know, the ones that never came to Earth and never really did anything out of the ordinary. What would they dream about?”

“Probably the doubts they had, but were too scared to question Heaven. Some probably thought about falling but didn’t out of fear and others probably regret not giving humans a chance,” Cas says. “I don’t think many of us were happy blindly following orders, but we didn’t know better.”

“Maybe angels would have been happier if they were human,” Dean says.

“I don’t doubt that,” Cas agrees.

Dean doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up the next morning, he realizes that he managed to go through a night without nightmares. When Dean looks down, Cas has an arm sprawled across his chest and their legs are tangled together; Cas is snoring lightly, and Dean has half a mind to just lay there until he no longer can, but he doesn’t. He pulls himself out of bed and grabs an old book detailing everything the Men of Letters knew about cosmic entities off his desk.

~

They take on a case in Arkansas that involves a creature feeding on young children. At first, Dean didn’t know why they were taking on cases when they have so much on their plates, but he’s never been able to turn away from cases that involved children. Cas and Jack come along, even though both are still limited. Eileen also tags along, and she’s easily the best of them right now. It’s a tense case, drawing on all their emotions, and rendering them exhausted by the end of it. 

“That has to be the last one for a while,” Dean says as they make their way back to the bunker. “We’ll put Jody and the girls on hunts if we need to, but until we figure out what to do about Chuck, we’re staying home.”

“Yeah, about that.”

Dean looks up to see Rowena standing in the war room, her hands on her hips and a bright smile on her face. Dean gapes; this is the first time he’s seen Rowena since she died, and she looks more alive than ever. He glances at Sam, who can’t keep the smile off his face.

“Hello, boys,” Rowena says, tilting her head. “I’ve caught up with dear Samuel and sweet Eileen, but how have you boys been?”

“Bad,” Dean says immediately just as Cas grumbles out, “Terrible.”

Rowena laughs and it’s this lilt of a thing and Dean feels a rush of warmth. He missed her; he misses everyone, all the time, so much. She says, “I thought as much, which is why I got in touch with an old friend and we’re here to help.”

Every face in the room stares at Rowena and she just tilts her head to the side and Billie walks out, holding a book. She has half a smile on her face, or as much of a smile as Billie could ever have, as she drops the book onto the table. Dean exchanges a look with Cas as they all crowd around.

“Billie approached me while I was having my Tuesday afternoon massage telling me that you boys need help,” Rowena explains, flipping through the pages of the spellbook. “Of course, I could never say no to that. This is the Draíocht Dhiaga — an ancient, Celtic spell book that has been kept in Hell for millennia, and we think that this might solve our collective problems when it comes to God.”

Dean stares at Rowena. Hell, everyone stares at Rowena. It’s Cas who breaks the silence. “And you’ve had it all this time?”

Rowena scoffs. “Of course not. We had to track it down and it was very dangerous.” Dean shoots her an apologetic look but she waves it off. “Luckily, the Queen of Hell and Death together is — well, it’s a deadly combination.” 

Rowena flashes Billie a toothy smile and Billie rolls her eyes, but there’s a level of respect there. Billie looks at them before she says, “Rowena thinks that she can read it, but when she does, she would need one of you to cast the spell.”

“And this kills Chuck?” Sam asks.

Rowena bites her lip and shakes her head. “Well, no. I don’t think there’s anything that can kill God, but it could neutralize him and transfer his power to another being that can hold it. In this particular case, it would have to be Jack.” She shoots Jack an apprehensive look. “If he would be willing to do it.”

“I am,” Jack says immediately.

Dean immediately raises a hand. “Wait, hold on. What happens when Jack absorbs Chuck’s powers?”

“Is he going to die?” Cas follows up, narrowing his eyes at Rowena and Billie.

Billie shakes her head. “Theoretically, he should be fine. I’m sure that there could be some physical side effects for a while, but nothing that would leave long term damage.”

Dean exhales sharply. He narrows his eyes at Billie. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch?”

“Magic this complicated always has a catch,” Dean explains. It’s too easy. They all know it.

Rowena flips through the book again and says, “Well, it is powerful magic so the caster will take great physical strain. There’s also the fact that we would need assistance to bring Chuck to the bunker, and the only being capable of doing that is —” Rowena frowns, looking at Dean.

“Amara,” Dean fills in, the anxiety bubbling up inside him. He feels Cas let out a sharp breath next to him. Dean sighs. “I can talk to her.”

“Dean —” Cas starts.

“It will be fine, Cas,” Dean says, voice rising an octave. He’s not sure that he believes that, but it’s not like they have a choice. “We have to.”

Cas looks away from him, frowning at the floor.

“So, we get Amara in on this, and then what?” Sam asks.

Rowena hums. “Well, then there are the ingredients which won’t be easy to get.”

Dean looks around the room and the tension is so heavy that Dean feels the nausea rising through him. He says, “Okay, lay it on us. What do we need?”

Rowena stays silent for a long time, gingerly flipping through the book. She bites her lip in concentration, looking at the different diagrams that are laid out in front of her. Dean tries reading over her shoulder, but he can’t make out any of the words. Sam seems to, though, because he leans down and focuses intensely on the book.

After a long moment, Rowena says, “We would need the blood of an archangel.”

 _Great_ , Dean thinks. They’re already off to a great start.

Eileen clears her throat. “Sam and I know where Michael is.”

“That’s right,” Sam says. “He’s living in a Kansas City penthouse with Adam — don’t ask, but he might help us if we can convince him that this is the right thing to do.”

Cas frowns. “Michael is a very loyal son.”

“Who was locked up in the cage for a decade,” Dean spits out. “Trust me, there’s no going back from that.”

Sam nods. “Eileen and I can try and convince him.”

Rowena just nods and turns back to the book. She traces a finger over a diagram, flips to another page where she has scratched notes written down before turning back to the diagram. She exhales sharply. “The second ingredient is a bone from the first man.”

“Adam,” Cas says, squinting in confusion. “Is he still alive?”

“Unfortunately,” Billie grimaces. “He runs a hippie shop in Santa Fe. I can take you to him, but he wouldn’t want to deal with me.”

“I could go with you,” Cas offers immediately. 

Billie eyes him. “He’s more likely to deal with Jack.”

“I’m not letting Jack out of my sight,” Cas says. Jack opens his mouth to argue and Cas gives him a look. “Jack, I need you to understand that as much as you want to help, you’re still my responsibility.”

Jack sighs. “I understand, Cas.”

“Well, that’s settled,” Dean says, feeling oddly tense. “What’s next?”

Rowena goes back to her book. She’s silent for a very, very long time and Dean can feel the anxiety rise in him. Eventually, she lets out a heavy sigh and closes the book. She pinches her forehead and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she gives them a small, sad smile. Her voice is strained when she says, “I’m sorry, boys. I really thought I had something here, but unfortunately, this won’t work.”

Irritation pricks at Dean. He glares at Rowena. “What do you mean this won’t work?”

“I mean that this won’t work,” Rowena says, eyeing him sharply. Dean’s face falls. _No come on,_ he thinks. They’re so close. Something softens in Rowena and her mouth curves down. Quietly, she says, “The final ingredient for the spell is the grace of a nephilim’s father, and unfortunately, we don’t have that. As much as I love all of you, I don’t feel comfortable bringing Lucifer back to life.”

Dean exhales sharply. The resentment festering in him threatens to burst out. He starts pacing the room, clenching his fists by his side. They were so close; they almost had it. He closes his eyes and concentrates on controlling his anger.

“Rowena?”

Cas’s voice brings Dean out of his thoughts. Dean opens his eyes and sees Cas shuffling from one foot to another, a look of concentration on his head. His voice trembles slightly when he says, “Is the spell literal? As in, does it have to be the grace of Jack’s actual father?” Cas hesitates before he looks at Dean. Something flickers behind his eyes and Dean knows that Cas has an idea. Cas turns to Rowena and says, “Could the spell be a metaphor and we can substitute it for something else?”

Rowena pinches the bridge of her nose. “I suppose you’re right and it could be a metaphor, and a replacement could do, but —”

“Could my grace work?” Cas says, cutting off Rowena. Dean immediately turns to face Cas. 

“What the hell, Cas —”

“Dean, wait,” Cas says sharply, fixing him a look. Dean closes his mouth. Slowly, Cas says, “I am Jack’s father in every sense of the word except through direct blood, so theoretically, my grace should work. Is that correct?”

Rowena is silent for a very long time, as she flips between two pages in the book. A look of worry spreads across her face, but she nods. “You’re correct, but darling, this is your _grace_ we’re talking about.” 

Dean catches Cas’s eyes. He’s about to open his mouth to protest and tell Cas that they can look for another option when Cas tilts his head to the side and gives Dean a look; there’s a silent plea in his eyes that tells Dean that he can’t protest. Dean nods slowly and Cas matches him, exhaling softly. He turns to Jack, placing one comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“I have to do it for Jack,” Cas explains, voice filled with newfound determination. “I can’t say that I have much of my grace left, and it’s not regenerating fast enough, but if it’s enough then I will happily give it up.”

Rowena studies him for a long time before she smiles softly. “You really are a selfless being, aren’t you?”

Cas huffs out a laugh, and Dean can see the tips of his ears turning pink. He smiles, patting Cas on the back. 

“Thank you, Castiel,” Jack tells him and Cas pulls Jack into a side hug, and Jack leans into it. Looking at Rowena, he says, “This will work, right?”

“I will do my damned best,” Rowena promises.

Dean feels something unfold in him as he looks around the room. There’s a newfound sense of hope rush through him as he watches Sam kiss Eileen and Billie exchange a handshake with Rowena. It’s not until he catches sight of Cas, his face in profile looking a bit sad that Dean comes back down to Earth. He knows it’s probably the right thing to do, the brave thing to do, for Cas to give up his grace like that, but it doesn’t mean that it’s not profoundly unfair. He watches as Cas walks out of the room towards his bedroom.

~

There’s a flurry of movement in the bunker as everyone packs their gear. Rowena gets her setup ready, his eyes flashing purple, as she reads through the book; Eileen loads her gun with angel killing bullets while Sam is transferring holy oil into a small can. Dean looks down at his gun — completely ineffective against Amara, but he likes having it on him. He scans the room and immediately spots Cas passing by in the hallway. Dean double checks his gear bag before he zips it up and races out the room.

“Hey,” Dean calls after Cas. He manages to catch up to Cas, pulling him back by the elbow. When Cas turns around to face him, Dean spots the grace extractor in his hands. He eyes it cautiously. “Are you ready?”

“Not really, but I know I have to do it,” Cas admits with a shrug.

Dean knows that there’s no point arguing against it now so he just nods, resting a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “If there was any other option, you know I would —”

“I know, Dean,” Cas says softly. 

Dean arches the hand on Cas’s shoulder around his back, pulling him closer. Cas lets himself be pulled until Dean wraps his arms around Cas, hugging him tightly. Cas drops his head to Dean’s shoulder, inhaling softly. When Cas lifts his head, emotions flood through his eyes, and Dean feels the heaviness of the moment between them. If this goes according to plan, Chuck might actually lose and they might be free for the first time in their lives; except, Dean knows that that might just be enough for The Empty to take Cas. 

He’s not sure who leans forward first, but the next thing Dean knows is that Cas presses his lips to Dean’s mouth; it’s not exactly a kiss, more of a brush of lips, but Dean leans back immediately. He stares at him, wide-eyed and unmoving. 

“Stay safe,” Cas tells him, taking a step back. Dean just blinks at him, probably for a fraction too long because Cas chuckles. “Dean, I’m currently in the process of dealing with losing my grace for good while we’re all on a nigh-impossible mission to defeat God. I’m _far_ from happy, and kissing you isn’t going to change that.” 

Dean gapes, feels his face warm, and shakes his head. “Yeah — yeah, okay. You better make it back alive.”

“Of course,” Cas promises.

Dean watches Cas walk down the hallway to his room, shutting the door behind him. He turns around and sets out to find Jack, and manages to locate him in the kitchen. He’s eating cereal straight from the box, and when he spots Dean, he tilts his chin up and smiles.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Hey, kid,” Dean says, feeling his nerves catch up to him. He drops down across Jack at the table. When Jack stares at him expectantly, Dean clears his throat. “Listen, Jack, I need you to promise me something; if you sense anything wrong, even the vaguest inclination that something is out of the ordinary, I want you and Cas to turn back.”

Jack’s brows draw together and he squints at Dean. “What do you mean?”

Dean considers his words very carefully. “I mean that if you get to Santa Fe, and this Adam seems dangerous, I want you to get back to the bunker and wait for reinforcements. Cas is going to be graceless and —” Dean freezes, unable to get the words out.

Jack studies Dean carefully before nodding. “Okay, Dean.”

“Be careful,” Dean tells Jack one last time before he leaves the kitchen

~

A town outside Philadelphia experienced a power outage that had no discernible cause, and while it’s beyond weak, it’s the only lead they have on Amara. It takes Dean a day and a half to drive there, and the moment he drives into town, his stomach twists with unease — his sensations all numb and he feels a single-minded draw towards a Polish restaurant that sits on a street corner. He runs a hand over his face and looks around warily. He’s almost positive he’s in Amara’s general vicinity, but nothing seems to be happening. He cuts the engine of his car and walks towards the restaurant.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean barely gets to the door before he hears her; he turns his head and spots Amara as he stands under a street lamp across the street, with a disbelieving look on her face. Her eyes are wide, and they turn wary as Dean makes his way across the street. 

“Amara,” he says, feeling the same mix of fear and confusion that he always has in her presence. Except now, it’s a lot weaker than it was.

She’s dressed in a smart, white suit and she bristles past him, towards the restaurant. Blindly, Dean follows her. It’s not until they’re seated and the food comes out that Amara looks at him. When she does, it’s with a curious expression. Dean clears his throat and says, “You really shouldn’t make yourself this easy to find. Your brother is back and dangerous.”

Amara laughs, low, shaking her head in amusement. “Oh Dean, do you think you found me? I let you find me because I have information that might be of use to you.” 

Dean blinks at her. She looks at her food, poking at a pierogi with her fork. “I’ve warded this restaurant against my brother, so this is the best time for me to tell you that God knows about your plan, Dean. He knows that Jack is alive. He knows about the dark piece of Celtic magic you’re trying to pull off, and —” Amara hesitates and shoots Dean a pointed look. “He’s scared. From what I know, he’s been hiding, but he’s running out of hiding places because he’s destroyed every other world, and there’s only so many places you can hide in this one.”

“Good,” Dean grits out. “I’m glad he’s scared.”

Amara hums. “Now, I’m assuming you found me because you need something from me. Is that correct?”

Amara studies him carefully as she takes a bite of her food, her eyes never leaving his eyes. Swallowing hard, Dean says, “Yeah, we need your help to trap Chuck long enough for us to cast the spell and drain him of his powers.”

“Why would I help you destroy my brother?” Amara asks, dropping her fork to the table. She picks up her water glass and stares Dean down over the rim. “After all, you would never willingly volunteer to help kill your brother.”

Dean presses his lips together and narrows his eyes at her, his temper flaring slightly. He can’t keep the frustration out of his voice when he says, “He locked you up for eons.”

“That was then,” Amara shrugs, looking away from Dean to her food.

Dean snorts. “And, what? Do you think he _changed?_ Amara, think about it. He locked you up because you stood in the way of his perfect world. He throws away people and things at a whim just because he’s bored. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone — and, that includes you.”

Amara bites her bottom lip and Dean can see the fury rising behind her eyes, but it dissipates and it’s replaced by something sadder. She twists her mouth into a cynical smile before she huffs out a low laugh. When she looks at Dean with wide eyes, he feels a twinge of sympathy. Quietly, Amara says, “What do you need me to do?”

Dean carefully pulls out his phone and opens up a diagram. “I need you to find him and teleport him to the bunker at exactly a quarter past five, two days from now. You need to bind him as long as you can so that Sam can recite the spell, and Rowena can do what she does. Jack will snap his fingers, and then we’ll see what happens. Ideally, all of Chuck’s powers will transfer to Jack, leaving Chuck alive but mortal.” He fixes a firm look in Amara’s direction. “Will you do that for us?”

Amara frowns, eyeing the diagram carefully. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, her gaze flickering between the diagram and Dean’s face. The corners of her mouth quirk up into a half-smile and she says, “You’re playing with fire, Dean — but, I think I can do this for you.”

Dean lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Amara.”

“I told you several years ago that we will always help each other,” Amara says lightly. “I will do this for you, Dean; however, in return, I want something.” Dean immediately pales and Amara laughs. “Oh, dear, not your soul. I’m way past that now — no, what I need is to be left alone after all this is over. As long as someone carries the light of God, there’s balance in the universe. I just want to exist in peace.”

“Deal,” Dean says automatically. He doesn’t know why he believes her, but he does.

“Then, we have an agreement,” Amara says. Dean hesitates, twisting his fingers around. Amara eyes him curiously. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Dean nods. “I need to know about The Empty.”

Amara raises a brow. “Well, it’s a vast nothingness that existed before my brother and I came into being, and it will exist long after both of us have been destroyed.”

“Can it be destroyed?” 

Amara laughs loudly at that. When Dean glares, her laughter turns into a small, amused smile. “You can’t destroy The Empty because it’s nothingness, but not the kind of nothingness I am. It exists as an absence of light and darkness; it’s cut off from reality, life, and God himself. So, no, it cannot be destroyed because what exists in the place of emptiness?”

Dean feels a chill run through his veins and he can feel Amara scan through his entire being. When he doesn’t say anything, she asks, “Why do you want to destroy it?”

Dean exhales slowly before he says, “Someone I care about made a deal with it, and I would like to get him out of it.”

He feels Amara’s eyes boring into him. When he meets her gaze, he can see the softness in her eyes. She says, “The angel, Castiel.” Dean nods, unable to say anything else. Amara tilts her head and squints at him. “I wondered what it was about the angel that made it impossible for me to get through to you, but I see it now.”

Dean flushes and looks away. He mumbles, “Yeah, well, can you help me or not?”

“I don’t have control over The Empty and neither does my brother,” Amara says with an air of finality. Dean sighs, dejectedly. After a moment, Amara continues, “However, I suppose the one weakness, if you can call it that, is that human souls can’t exist in The Empty.”

An idea strikes Dean suddenly. “If an angel is graceless, does that mean that they’re human?”

“Not quite,” Amara tells him and Dean feels like he’s just been punched in the gut. Amara explains, “Angels without their grace are human in the sense that they can no longer do the things that angels can do, but they’re not human in the sense that they have a human soul. An angel without its grace can return to its angelic state by consuming grace, but a human soul can never become an angel — well, not unless God does something about it.”

Dean bows his head. It was a long shot, he knew, but he was just hoping for something, anything. He says, “So, it’s pretty much hopeless.”

Amara makes a sympathetic noise as she gets up from the table. “I’m sorry, Dean. I know how much he means to you.”

 _No, you don’t_ , he thinks. 

~

Sam and Eileen are already back by the time Dean makes it back to the bunker. He feels a spark of anticipation when he sees Sam leaning over a sigil painted on the floor; he lights a candle and starts mixing various ingredients, and when he spots Dean, he nods in his direction. Dean notices a vial of Michael’s blood next to the blue-white fog of Cas’s grace on the table.

“How’d it go?” Eileen asks, looking through Rowena’s book.

“She said she’ll help,” Dean tells her. He lightly touches the vial with Cas’s grace. “Jack and Cas aren’t back yet?”

Eileen shakes her head. Dean eyes his watch and mentally tries calculating how long it would take to drive back from Santa Fe, but feels the worry curl in his stomach anyways. They have Billie with them, which is always an insurance policy, but that should mean they would be back quicker, right? He doesn’t get to spiral because right at that moment, Billie transports back to the bunker; Jack immediately drops to the ground while Cas hobbles to a chair.

Dean raises a brow at Billie. “What the hell?”

“Relax,” Billie tells him. “They’re fine.”

Jack stands back up, dusting himself off. He smiles slightly, dropping a little plastic bag with a bone inside on the table. With a wince, he says, “Billie’s teleportation is so different from my flying.”

Dean eyes Cas. “And, you?”

“Alive,” Cas mutters. “I have no idea how you dealt with being tossed around like a rag doll all these years.”

“The secret is not getting tossed around,” Dean tells him, tossing a crooked grin in his direction. Cas rolls his eyes and rubs his arm, wincing at the pain. Dean eyes the bone, the blood, and the grace. “So, we have everything, right?”

“We’re just waiting on Rowena,” Sam says, not looking up from where he’s mixing some myrrh and cassia. There’s less than an hour before Amara is scheduled to bring Chuck to the bunker. Dean taps his fingers on the table, feeling the anxiety rise. Sam finally stands up and looks over his handiwork. He turns to Dean. “Once she gets back from Hell, I’ll recite the incantation and Rowena will use her magic. Jack would have about a minute to snap his fingers.”

Dean exchanges a look with Cas before eyeing Jack. “You ready, kid?”

Nerves flicker across Jack’s face, but he nods. “I’m ready.”

Time ticks by and Dean feels restless. He paces around the room, checks his watch constantly, and waits. When he walks over to where Sam and Eileen are discussing the spellwork, they shoo him away. Billie raises a brow at him when he walks up to her, and Dean immediately walks away. At some point, Cas stands up and grabs Dean’s wrist, leading him back to the chair and Dean lets himself be pushed back down to sit. He passes time by playing Uno with Eileen and Jack. 

With less than ten minutes left, Rowena walks down the stairs of the bunker, smiling coyly at them all.

“About fucking time,” Dean practically shouts when he sees her.

Rowena raises a brow at him. “Forgive me for having responsibilities, Dean. You don’t want Hell to fall into chaos, do you?” Without waiting for a response, she walks over to the sigil on the ground. She eyes them for a moment before smiling brightly. “Oh, my dearest Samuel, we’ll make a witch out of you, yet.”

Sam grins, his entire face lighting up with pride. Together with Rowena and Eileen, Sam kneels back down, lighting a fire, and slowly unscrews the vial of Michael’s blood, dropping it into the cauldron. A thick, black smoke arises. Dean wrinkles his nose, watching as Sam drops in Adam’s bone. The smoke turns white. Sam picks up the vial of Cas’s grace, a flicker of hesitation crosses over his face, and he looks up at Cas, the lines in his forehead drawn together.

“Go ahead, Sam,” Cas says, firmly.

Sam nods and unscrews the vial and drops it in. He looks at Rowena for instruction. She reaches out to take Sam’s hand. Her voice is precise and calm when she says, “Listen to me carefully — all of you. Sam, the spell is in Gaelic, so you must focus on your pronunciation. Any mistake, and we will not be able to bind him. Do you understand?” Sam lets out a sharp breath and nods. Then, Rowena turns to Jack, her face softening immediately. “Jack, my boy. I do hate the burden of responsibility we’re putting on you.”

“It’s okay,” Jack says quietly. His face is set into a purposeful determination. He looks over at Dean, and Dean shoots a small, hopefully encouraging, smile in Jack’s direction, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. Jack turns back to Rowena. “What do I need to do?”

“You will have less than a minute to snap your fingers and then God will be bound and his powers will flow into you,” Rowena explains. “Now, I don’t know what will happen after that point, and the power surge will be immense, but we’re all hoping you can hold it off.”

When realization finally comes, when the feeling and the nature of the spell finally clicks in his head, Dean’s blood runs cold in his veins. “We’re hoping? So, you’re saying this is all theoretical?”

Rowena opens her mouth to reply, but Billie cuts in. “Everything we do is theoretical, Dean. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re trying to bind God, not some second tier demon.”

Dean sighs and concedes that’s fair. Rowena gives him a sympathetic smile before continuing, “Now, we’re hoping Amara will be strong enough to keep Chuck neutralized long enough for us to do this, but in the event she can’t, Billie and I will help.” She turns to Eileen. “Eileen, my dear, you need to constantly add the crushed rosemary and cassia into the cauldron, reciting the incantation each time you drop something in.”

“What should we do?” Cas asks, pointing between himself and Dean.

Rowena smiles gently and nods towards Jack. “Both of your responsibility is to support him -- when the power surges through him, he might crumble under the rush, but he needs to stay upright as long as it takes.”

Dean looks at Cas, who nods. They move so that they’re standing on either side of Jack. Cas reaches out to take Jack’s hand while Dean places a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“We have three minutes until Amara will arrive,” Rowena says darkly.

~

The bunker shakes and the lights flicker, the cosmic wardings that are already damaged from the last time Amara broke into the bunker are effectively toast. Dean instinctively tightens the hand that’s on Jack’s shoulder; Jack meets his gaze, his eyes filled with fear, and Dean knows that no matter how comforting he’s trying to be in that moment, he probably also looks terrified. One of the overhead lights burst out, shattering the glass bulb all over the war room table. Three, two, one. Dean watches as Amara lands on the table, holding Chuck above her telekinetically. 

“Amara, what the hell are you doing?” Chuck shouts, but then Amara places a finger on her temple, and Chuck starts choking on air.

“Now, Sam,” Rowena hisses. “Start the spell.”

Sam’s voice trembles as he recites, “Ar dia, tha sinn a faicinn do sholas agus ceangail e taobh a-staigh ar soitheach.”

Dean sees Cas tighten his grip on Jack’s hand. Chuck makes a wordless noise of fury, and more lights shatter around them. Rowena and Billie use everything they have to help Amara hold Chuck up. Eileen drops the ingredients in the cauldron as she recites the words given to her by Rowena. The fire from the cauldron erupts and the heat from the flames burns hotter, faster; they reach up to the person they’re trying to bind and Chuck lets out another strangled sound. The heat in the bunker grows to an unbearable level, and all Dean can do is tighten his grip on Jack.

Jack snaps his finger, and the light explodes around them all.

Dean can’t see anything ahead of him and he closes his eyes. He feels a body, definitely Jack’s, and he blindly reaches a hand out to hold Jack’s. The pushback from Chuck’s powers is stronger than anything Dean has come up against. He wants to recoil, to let the light wash over him and knock him back, but he can’t. He holds on to Jack’s hand and he knows Cas is doing the same thing with the other hand.

Dean feels Jack’s body float off the ground and he tries holding on until Jack floats up too high and he’s forced to let go. When the light disperses, Dean opens his eyes to see Jack float above them all. He stays there for an achingly long moment before he falls to the ground, landing with a heavy thud.

“Jack!” Dean shouts, rushing to his side with Cas right beside him a moment later. He reaches two fingers out to check for Jack’s pulse and realizes he’s breathing. Dean exhales sharply and looks around him.

Amara collapses to her knees, looking ahead at where Chuck’s form lies. Dean exchanges a look with Sam, who has an arm around Eileen. Rowena hunches over the table, and Dean can see her struggling. Billie, who looks better than the rest of them, still looks drained. Nobody says anything, everyone watching carefully for any sign of life from Chuck. It takes several long minutes before Chuck coughs, and jolts into alertness. He tries standing but he can’t and drops back down.

“How dare you,” Chuck hisses, raising a finger. Dean braces himself as Chuck snaps his fingers. When nothing happens, his eyes widen in surprise, flickering around the room. He tries snapping his fingers again, and once again, nothing happens. He drops his shoulders. His voice is meek when he says, “Fuck, now what?”

Nobody says anything for a long time until Billie stands over him. “Now, you live your life, grow old and alone, and you’ll die — and when you die, I’ll come to collect you.” Her voice is icy cold and Dean feels a sense of vindication when the fear flickers all over Chuck’s face.

He stands up and says, “Goodbye, Chuck. Have fun living your life as a pathetic, lonely human.”

With a wave of her fingers, Billie teleports Chuck out of the bunker. Dean feels a rush of relief through him. He looks over at Cas who smiles at him, the corners of his eyes drooping down in relief and something akin to happiness. It doesn’t last long though because Jack whimpers on the ground below them.

“Jack?” Cas asks, voice laced with worry. He looks at Billie. “Is he —”

“He’ll live,” Billie confirms. She hunches down to run a hand over Jack’s chest. “We would need to watch over him, but he should come back into consciousness in a couple of hours.”

Dean controls the trembling in his hands to hunch down and lift Jack off the ground. Sam is instantly by his side as they manage to get Jack to a bed. Rowena instantly pulls out a spellbook to get to work.

~

They all pile into the infirmary. Rowena and Billie stand in the doorway looking into the room while Sam sits in his chair, with Eileen leaning on the desk. Cas sits by Jack’s bedside; Dean watches Cas as he gently brushes the hair out of Jack’s face. The lines of worry are etched all over Cas’s face, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Dean paces around until he eventually sits on the other side of Jack’s bed.

Jack blinks back into consciousness an hour later. When his eyes open, he scans the room and smiles when recognition hits him. He looks down at his hands before waving one in the direction of a light. It flickers on and off for a minute before shattering.

“Woah,” Jack says, passing his hands in front of his face. He turns to Dean and says, “I feel like I’m on fire.”

Dean exchanges a worried look with Cas, who says, “Is that — is that a bad thing?”

Jack bites his lip, still looking at his hands. Slowly, he says, “It’s not a bad thing, but —” He hesitates, looking over at Billie who is leaning against the door frame. Jack squints at her. “Billie, do you think this power can be passed on?’

Billie narrows her eyes and says, “What are you talking about?”

Dean looks between Billie and Jack, not quite knowing what is going on. Jack doesn’t speak for a moment, still waving his hands in front of him. When he looks at the room again, his eyes are wide and innocent in the way that only Jack can manage. He says, “I don’t know if I can handle all this power, but I think someone else might be able to.”

Dean frowns. “Who?”

“Her,” Jack says, tilting his head towards the door. Billie's mouth drops open and her eyes are wide. Jack’s voice is thoughtful when he says, “I think the power would be safer in Billie’s hands. After all, she’s Death and she’s supposed to reap God one day.”

“Huh,” Dean says, considering it. He looks at Billie. “It might not be a bad idea.”

“I agree,” Sam pipes in from his chair.

For a moment, Billie looks uncertain, but she takes a step forward. She reaches a hand out and Jack places his hand in hers; a burst of light explodes out of their hands, but it clears quickly, and in its wake, Billie practically glows. 

“Woah, indeed,” Billie says, after a moment. She’s smiling down at her hands. “Well, this is certainly new.” She smirks at them. “I think I like this.”

Dean blinks. This is the part that he never thought he could get to. “Now, what?”

“Well,” Rowena says slowly from the doorframe. “I can tell you that the gates of Hell will be closed from here on out.” She smiles at them warmly. “Of course, with the exception of yours truly. I still want to be invited to the annual Winchester holiday dinner.”

Sam laughs. “Of course.”

Billie eyes them all considerately. “The same will go for the gates of Heaven. I don’t see myself as _God_ per se, but I suppose — well, I suppose I would rule as Death. The natural order is what it is now, and when people die, they will be weighed against the abacus, and those souls that belong in Heaven will go to Heaven.” She gives Dean a _very_ pointed look. Dean swallows hard. Billie says, “That includes all of you. The next time you die will be the last time you die.”

Dean looks at Sam who nods. Dean says, “That sounds fair.”

“And you’re staying out of our lives?” Sam asks.

Billie nods. “I’m a librarian, not a writer. Whatever you do with your life is your choice. Naturally, you will reap the consequences of your choices one day, but for now — well, enjoy what you have.”

“That sounds like a dream,” Dean says, smiling slightly. But, there’s something else. His stomach twists. He meets Billie’s gaze, and almost instantly, her face twists in recognition of what’s to come. Still, Dean says, “And what about The Empty?”

“The Empty is of my control, Dean,” Billie says immediately. 

Dean bows his head and feels his chest constrict tightly. So, it’s not all better then. He looks at Cas, who averts his gaze to the floor, frowning.

“But, I do have an option for you,” Billie says slowly. Dean whips his head up to look at her. Billie bites her lip and looks away from him and directly at Cas, who tilts his head to the side in confusion. Billie sighs and pulls out a vial filled with blue-white fog and recognition flickers across Cas’s face. She walks over and hands the vial of grace back to Cas. 

Cas blinks in confusion. “My grace?”

“There was a little bit leftover after the spell,” Billie tells him. She studies his face and Dean feels the hair on the nape of his neck stand up. Billie carries herself more like God than Chuck ever managed. 

“I have an option for you, Castiel,” Billie says, voice firm but still betrayed by a level of warmth. “You have a vial of your grace in your hands, and I can increase that enough for your seraphim powers to return.” Dean watches Cas twist the vial in his hand, eyeing it warily. When he doesn’t speak, Billie continues, “Or, I can give you another option.” 

Dean watches Cas’s eyes snap up; he looks at Billie and then at Dean, and Dean smiles at him, more than a little hopeful.

“I can give you a human soul,” Billie says after a moment. “However, you should know that you will be human in every sense of the word — you will get sick, you will feel aches that you’ve never felt before, you will age, and you will eventually die. Even more than that, there will come a time when you will forget your oldest angelic memories, but you will remember the ones you’ve made in your vessel. You haven’t had the easiest time lately with your diminishing grace, so I feel like it’s my responsibility to let you know that everything you’ve been feeling is a minor side effect of humanity.”

Realization dawns on Dean. He looks at Billie and says, “If Cas has a human soul, does that mean —”

Billie nods. “He would no longer be bound to The Empty. The choice is yours, Castiel. Most angels, with eons of memories, would struggle.”

Dean looks at Cas and sees the struggle on his face. Dean knows it’s not an easy choice. Cas has been an angel for millennia, fighting countless battles, and asking him to give all that up because — because Dean wants him to? Because they can be together and be happy and live a normal life? It seems worth it in Dean’s mind, but he knows it’s not his choice.

Cas stays silent for a long time, twisting the vial in his hands. From where Dean is sitting, he can see the wetness in Cas’s eyes. When he does speak eventually, his voice cracks slightly. “I choose — I choose to be human.”

Billie takes a step forward and places a finger on Cas’s forehead. She says, “You now have a human soul, Castiel.”

Dean reaches for Cas’s hand, and Cas laces their fingers together. With his free hand himself, Cas twists the vial again, the small fog floating around. He inhales sharply and squeezes Dean’s hand. When their eyes meet, Dean can see Cas’s eyes light up with hope in a way that Dean hasn’t seen for years. Dean looks away from Cas to smile at Billie. He mouths _thank you_ to her; she nods before teleporting out. 

~

Dean finds Cas later in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, still looking at the vial of grace. Dean watches from the door frame as Cas twists it; he opens the cap of the vial, letting some of the grace flow out before he closes it again. Dean feels a twinge of guilt rush through him at the thought of Cas regretting his choice. He doesn’t have time to think about it though because Cas spots him. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says softly, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a small smile. He places the vial on the side table to face Dean completely. 

Dean takes that as an invitation to step into the room, closing the door behind him. He walks over to Cas’s bed, his bare feet pattering on the tile floor of the bunker. He doesn’t sit down though; instead, he picks up the vial, and delicately twists it. He can feel Cas studying him, so he puts the vial down and looks at Cas, who blinks up at him.

“Do you regret it?” Dean asks because he needs to know, because he wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if Cas gave up being an angel just because Dean couldn’t live without him. 

“No, I don’t,” Cas says immediately. He reaches down into his side table drawer to pull out a thin leather strip. Dean watches as Cas loops the strip through the vial, turning it into a necklace. He blinks up at Dean again. “I was just thinking about what I should do with it.”

Dean does sit down on the bed then. “Have you decided?”

Wordlessly, Cas reaches over to take Dean’s hand and places the necklace in his palm. Dean looks up to meet Cas’s eyes which are filled with so much warmth that Dean flushes. He slips the vial around his neck and whispers, “Thank you.”

Cas tilts his head to the side, blinking his eyes up at Dean. There’s still tired lines around his eyes, and there’s a gray hair or two, but he looks _good_ — better than he’s looked in a while. There’s an effortless, carefree quality to Cas now; his blue eyes are dark and luminous, more celestial than when he was an angel, and Dean wants nothing more than to lean over and kiss him.

Because Cas knows him better than anyone else, he smirks slightly, and raises a brow. “Just do it, Dean.”

Dean huffs out a laugh before he leans in, reaching up to tilt Cas’s chin closer and kisses him. Cas sighs into it, kisses him back, slow and easy, their bodies tilting together with a sense of familiarity, Cas’s arms dangling loosely around his shoulder, as Dean splays his hand over Cas’s hipbone. Dean reaches his other hand up to cup Cas’s head, and runs a thumb along Cas’s jawline, feeling the early stages of stubble under his fingers, and gently turns Cas to deepen the kiss. Dean can feel the curve of Cas’s grin when he kisses the corners of his mouth. Ever the impatient one, Cas shifts to pull Dean back on to the bed with him. Dean pulls away to raise a brow, smirking slightly.

“Dean, if you don’t hurry the fuck up —” Cas says, with the most _Castiel of the Lord_ look of all time. 

Dean laughs, so stupidly happy, and leans down to kiss Cas again.

~

“Can I ask you something?” Dean says later that night.

He strokes a hand down Cas’s back, feeling the evenness of his breathing. Cas lifts his head from where it’s on Dean’s chest, rubs the sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hands, and blinks up at him. “Of course.”

“Are you happy?” Dean asks, not because he doesn’t trust that this is actually his life now, but he still needs to know.

Cas tucks his face back into Dean’s chest, closes his eyes, and mumbles, “Very much so.”

That’s all Dean really needs to hear.

~

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I’m sure, Dean,” Sam tells him as he brings another box out into the main room of the bunker. He looks at Dean, knits his brows together, and gives him a look. “Are you sure _you’re_ okay with this?”

When Sam had come to him to discuss the possibility of moving out, Dean told him that they all had true free will now and that Sam can do what he wants. Dean admits that it was probably a little snide at the time because it’s hard to break away from more than two decades of indoctrination at the hands of his father, but now, looking at the boxes, Dean thinks he’s okay with it. There’s always a time for the kids to move out because that’s who Sam is -- Sam is his brother, but he’s also his baby brother, and in his own way, a son. 

“Dean, I know there’s going to be an adjustment period, but you’ll be fine,” Sam insists when Dean doesn't say anything. He tapes up a box that contains some lore books.

“Sam, I’m okay,” Dean tells him, and he is. He really is. He smiles when he says, “I don’t get why you would want to go hunting on the road in shitty motels when you could live here, but hey, it’s your choice.”

“I miss it,” Sam tells him, considerately. Dean thinks that his brother might be insane at that moment. Sam catches his face and laughs, “Oh, cut me some slack. I love the bunker -- I do, but you know, Eileen and I want to hunt, and sometimes the best part of hunting is stumbling on to cases.”

“Fair enough,” Dean concedes.

“And what about you?” Sam asks as he zips up one of his duffle bags. He hooks it over the handle of Eileen’s suitcase.

Dean knits his brows together. “What about me?”

Sam stares at him for a long time, and Dean can tell that he’s debating bringing up whatever he wants to bring up. Eventually, he says, “Are you sure you want to retire?”

“I do,” Dean says swiftly with no hesitation at all. “If there’s one thing I know I want to do, it’s that.”

“So, what now?” Sam asks, taping up the last of his boxes. “What are you going to do?”

Dean considers it. “Well, maybe I’ll finally go to that beach that I’ve been talking about. Apparently. Cas hasn’t been to a beach since Moses parted the Red Sea, and let me tell you, that’s entirely too long ago.” Sam laughs at that. Dean smiles and says, “Honestly, I just want to hang out. There’s space out back for a little garden, and maybe, I’ll get a normal job for once.”

“That sounds nice, Dean,” Sam says softly.

“It’s not a full retirement though,” Dean admits. “I’ll still work the phones and the bunker is still open to you, Eileen, and any other hunters that might stop by. Hell, if Jack gets restless enough, I might take him out to take out a vamp nest here and there.” 

Almost right on cue, Jack strolls into the main room, his Nintendo Switch in hand. He waves at Sam and Dean before he drops down on a chair, looking down at his game.

“Actually, on second thought, maybe you should take him with you. All he does is play that game,” Dean grumbles. Sam’s eyes light up with amusement and Dean shakes his head, “Man, I’m old now.”

“You are,” Sam agrees.

Dean opens his mouth to retort when Jack jumps off his chair and walks over. His eyes shine with excitement and he tilts his screen towards Dean. He says, “Dean, look, I found a surfboard in Nook’s Cranny.”

“No way,” Dean says, pulling the game out of Jack’s hand to look at it closer. He pouts. “I wanted that for my island.”

Sam snickers. “Yeah, Jack is the only one who can’t stop playing that game.”

“Dean plays it more than me,” Jack points out.

“Alright, get out of here,” Dean says, and Jack just laughs.

Dean watches Jack walk away before turning to Sam, who gives him a positively shit eating, a typical younger brother who waited a lifetime to tease him, grin and Dean squints his eyes. He mouths _what_ at Sam and Sam just shakes his head. “I’m just happy for you, man.” Sam pauses, grinning again. “You’ve gone soft.”

Dean feels his face warm, and wonders if he should argue it, but he finds that he really can’t. He’s gone soft, it’s almost a fact of his life. So, he doesn’t argue it; instead, he shrugs, smiling. “There are worse things to be than soft.” He tilts his head towards Sam. “Dad would probably be rolling in his grave right now, if he had one.”

“Good,” Sam says automatically. Dean hums in agreement. 

Before he can say anything else though, Eileen strolls in with two guns in hand. She smirks at Dean and says, “I’m stealing these.”

Dean waves a hand towards her and pretends to bow to her. “All yours.”

There’s a wave of movement around the room as Cas strolls in with one of Eileen’s bags. Dean helps Sam carry the boxes out to Eileen’s truck. Dean isn’t good with goodbyes — a lifetime of people leaving would do that to you, but it’s so much easier when he knows they’ll come back. He’ll see Sam and Eileen again for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and many other holidays and birthdays after. 

When the car is loaded up, Eileen gets into the driver’s side, swapping out Sam’s auxiliary cord for an old cassette tape and Dean laughs. He pulls Sam back by the shoulder and says, “Marry her, or I will.”

“Don’t think Cas would be too happy with that,” Sam says, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Dean looks over Sam’s shoulders to where Cas and Jack are talking to Eileen. Sam’s face is a lot more serious when Dean looks at him again. He says, “You should think about it, you know.”

Dean knows his face is probably bright red. He ducks his head and scratches the back of his neck. “A bit hard when one of us is legally dead and one of us technically doesn’t exist.” Sam is still staring at him with the same expression so Dean concedes, “Yeah, okay, consider it considered.”

“Good,” Sam says, patting him on the shoulder.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come here.” He pulls Sam into a tight hug. “See you soon.”

~

True to her words, Rowena has Hell on lockdown; she called all the demons still on Earth back to Hell, and the world is safer for it. The remaining angels chose humanity in the end, falling to a world that they might be able to recover in; Billie runs Heaven using the power of human souls, so the more people live their lives positively and enter Heaven, the more Heaven shines bright. It’s a different kind of Heaven too, apparently, but also true to her word, Billie locked it all up, restoring a natural order to things. Amara is still around, getting massages in Vegas or playing keno in Atlantic City. Chuck — well, Chuck Shurley is alive somewhere in the world, but Dean doesn’t really care. The world has enough sad, pathetic men, so what’s one more?

Somehow the bunker doesn’t feel empty anymore, even if it’s just him, Cas, and Jack now. The halls still echo, but it’s not eerily quiet anymore. Dean cooks a lot; Cas gardens sometimes, and Jack — well, Jack is a _teenager_ , or at least he thinks he is. The Winchester customary four hours of sleep gradually increased to a solid six, and lately, Dean thinks he’s even pulling eight hours. He still gets nightmares sometimes, it’s impossible not to. He still wakes up in the middle of the night thinking that this is all a djinn dream, and his life will crash around him, leaving nothing in his wake. He tries to shake the feeling, but he never seems to. The anxiety still prickles under his skin. 

It’s a warm, sunny day when he finds Cas in his garden, hunching over vines and staring at a tomato. When Dean gets close, Cas tilts his head and narrows his eyes in confusion. “Don’t you think that the process of making ketchup from a tomato makes the tomato lose all structural integrity? So, it seems pretty unreasonable to classify ketchup as a vegetable.”

Dean blinks and thinks that every time he feels like he could never be more in love with Cas than he already is, he’s always proven wrong. He squats down next to Cas near the dirt patch; they started with carrots, but gradually the garden has everything they could need — Dean’s personal favorites are the pumpkins and the tomatoes. He sits quietly and watches Cas dig up the dirt, planting some seeds for herbs. _This is real, this is real, this is real_ , Dean tells himself. _Cas isn’t going anywhere. The fight is over._ He keeps repeating the words to himself as a reminder; his fingers twitch and he reaches out to grab some dirt, only for Cas to smack his hand away.

He knows that Cas is studying him from the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stands up and rubs his hands on his jeans before reaching a hand out. Dean immediately takes it and lets Cas pull him up. Cas squeezes his hand, and Dean feels a rush of gratitude surge through him and feels Cas anchoring him to the then and now. _The fight is over. You deserve this_ , he repeats like a mantra in his head.

Cas stays quiet as Dean tugs them back towards the bunker, through the trees and weeds. It’s not until they’re almost home that Cas pulls Dean’s hand, stopping them, before he says, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” 

Cas tilts his head, eyeing Dean with a look that says cut the bullshit — or, maybe, it says that Cas knows him too well that Dean can’t avoid it forever. Dean sighs and runs a finger over Cas’s thumb. When Dean looks at Cas, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Sometimes I still think that I’m going to wake up one day and find myself in the middle of another apocalypse,” Dean admits. He averts his gaze away from Cas, but Cas tilts his head so that Dean is forced to look directly at him. “I’ve spent so long fighting one stupid war after another that I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.” He hesitates, looking away from Cas. “I think I’m broken, Cas.”

“You’re not broken, Dean,” Cas tells him and Dean’s eyes snap up to meet his. Cas’s eyes are a warm blue, eternally compassionate. He says, “I’m real, Dean. Jack is real; Sam, Eileen — we’re all real, Dean and we all love you. That’s all that matters.”

Cas squeezes his hand again and looks at him so fondly that Dean feels his heart thudding, everything feels just a little bit brighter. He says, “I love you, too. I don’t — uh, I know I don’t say it often enough, but I would have been long dead without you.”

“Well, yes,” Cas deadpans. “I did literally pull you out of hell.”

Dean laughs at that, a wave of relief washes over him. _I’ll be fine_ , he thinks because he will. He’ll be fine because Cas is here and Cas doesn’t think he’s broken. “Thank you, Cas.” 

He pulls Cas a little closer, and Cas steps into his space and blinks up. He reaches a finger up to trace a finger over where his grace is hanging around Dean’s neck and smiles. He drops his hand and slides his arm around Dean's waist, up the back of Dean’s flannel. It’s a simple gesture, but Cas’s presence grounds Dean to Earth, to this new Earth, where God is on their side and they’re all safe.

When Dean kisses Cas, he's dizzy from the gratitude and the world ahead of them and the way Cas laughs into his mouth.

~

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know the stuff with Chuck is a bit of a cop out, but tbh, is it any more of a cop out than actual canon? 
> 
> I also really just love the idea that Cas's "the one thing I want is something I know I can't have" is more the fact that he knows if he has Dean, he would truly be happy, and therefore they're both kinda aware of each other's feelings but The Empty deal kinda hangs over them. Also, yes, Billie should have been God - or, more like, Death should be the equivalent of God. 
> 
> Anyways!! I hope you guys liked it and I would love to hear feedback.


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